Revelations Part Three
by lovelorn45
Summary: Josephine Grayson reached the end of her quest and Vincent finally learns the truth about his origins. Able to come to terms with the past at last, now Vincent finds himself looking forward to a happier future, one that he could never have dreamed of.
1. Chapter 1

_Revelations, is an original story, inspired by the U.S. cult T.V. series BEAUTY AND THE BEAST and was first written in 1998 and published independently. I can confirm that I am the original author._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Ron Koslow, Witt-Thomas Productions, Republic Pictures, or CBS._

**CHAPTER ONE.**

_**FRIDAY 30TH DECEMBER, 1994 - NEW YORK CITY.**_

It wasn't too difficult to get a taxi back to the house, and Josephine let herself into the dark lobby with shaky fingers, then hurried across the hallway and up the stairs to the first floor, then up the stairs to the attic level, retrieving the key from the nail by the door, and unlocking the door with still trembling fingers.

Inside, she hesitated about switching on the single bare electric light bulb, then decided against it. He, Joseph, had already made it clear that he was uncomfortable about revealing his face to her, and she did not want to cause him any further discomfort or unease.

But, he would still need light to read by.

There were a couple of old hurricane lanterns, lying around, still filled with kerosene, and she had matches to light them with.

Josephine hurried to set these things on one side in readiness, then reached out for the pole with the ugly looking hook on the end that had scared her so when she was a small child, and maneuvered it to undo the rusted old latch on the skylight.

The small square of glass unlocked now, Josephine set about opening the boxes of treasures that her mother had left for her to keep safe for her brother, her heart beating rapidly in her breast, her fingers shaking, as she waited for him to arrive.

She had no idea how long it would take him to reach her home, but she wanted to be ready for him when he did arrive, give him no excuse to hightail it out of here leaving her high and dry, and wondering if she would ever see him again.

A sudden sharp tap on the skylight drew Josephine's attention, heralding as it did, her brother's arrival. She turned her gaze upward to find his large, dark clothed figure blocking out the stars, as he bent to open the skylight, and then gracefully lowered himself through the open window, dropping lightly to his feet just a few feet away from her.

"Hello Joseph. Welcome ...."

"Josephine ...."

"I know .... you have questions .... lots of questions .... me too .... but you first .... let's sit down ...."

She indicated to a space that she had cleared on the dusty wooden floor, close to the boxes and the hurricane lanterns.

"It's all right. They won't bite ...." She grinned, when he hesitated. "And nor will I ...." She added for good measure. "Please .... don't be afraid ...."

_**That's usually my line ....**_ Vincent thought to himself with unusually wry humor, taking in a deep breath and expelling it slowly.

"I have gotten everything ready for you ...." She indicated to the tissue wrapped items strewn around the floor, and Vincent nodded gently. "Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?" Josephine asked, knowing that she was babbling like a brook, but unable to stop herself.

She simply could not believe that he was really there. That her quest was really over.

It felt so strange.

Nothing like she had imagined.

It had a strange, unreal quality to it ....

He was so quiet.

So reticent.

So _**big**_.

Imposing.

He needed no words of intimidation. His just being there was intimidating enough.

"May I stay?" She heard herself asking in a soft voice, feeling like an intruder in her own home.

"It is your home ...." He mumbled awkwardly, his gaze traveling to the piles of old leather bound journals, then lifting to regard her, his face concealed by shadows, making it hard to read his expression. "I would not wish to drive you from it ...."

"It's your home too now ...." Josephine told him sincerely.

"Where should I begin?" He spoke absently, and for a moment, she wondered if he had heard her.

"Here, I guess ...."

Josephine moved slightly to her right, where she had laid the pile of journals earlier in the evening, before going to the park to meet with him.

They were in no particular order, but there was one missing. The one that she still had in her pocket.

The one she had come to think of as her trump card, as it was probably the most important one to him.

The one that told of his conception, her mother's captivity and escape.

And of course, his birth.

Vincent silently moved toward where she was pointing, and Josephine moved too, toward the hurricane lantern, digging in her pocket for matches.

"Allow me," Vincent offered in a low voice, and Josephine reached out to the large shape extended toward her, which she guessed was his hand, and dropped the book of matches into his open palm, watching, as with deft fingers, he opened the glass front of the hurricane lantern, struck the match, and touched it to the kerosene soaked wick.

Instantly, the attic was flooded with soft yellow light, and Josephine got her first real glance of her brother.

His large, fur covered, sharply clawed hands.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise, but to her credit, she made no sound of revulsion, forcing her jaw shut swiftly lest he should see her reaction and make a bolt for it.

A reaction was indeed what Vincent was waiting for, the usual strangulated gasp of surprise .... scream of horror .... And was pleasantly surprised when neither was forthcoming from his sister's lips.

Oh yes, he could sense that she, Josephine, _**had**_ reacted in some way to his strangeness, but, it was to her credit that she had quashed it, intelligent enough to know that any outward show of revulsion or fear might cause him pain.

Might cause him to flee in to the night.

The first hurdle successfully negotiated, Vincent moved to an old footstool, and sat down carefully upon it, reaching out to pick up a journal, and opening the front cover, noted the flowery script on the fly cover, one word inscribed there, simply - _**Joseph.**_

Josephine watched as he opened the first journal and read the inscription on the inside front cover. She was curious to know which year he had picked up.

"They're not in any real order," she pointed out softly. "Maybe I should sort through them for you?" She offered.

"Do you keep a journal?" He asked in rich, deep, velvety tones, the question surprising Josephine.

"No. Do you?"

"Yes." He replied simply.

"I never really had the time. And I'm glad now, because it would not have been right, true. I know now that I had a very jaded, jaundiced and cynical view of the way my mother treated me. I never really knew her at all, until these past few days. Until I read her journals," Josephine explained softly, letting out a ragged sigh.

"Whatever I had written over the years would have been untrue. The jaundiced view of a child who felt unloved and unwanted ...."

This brought his head up sharply, and from the light cast by the hurricane lantern, Josephine was able to see tufts of deep red/gold hair poking out from beneath the large hood.

Her fingers itched to reach out and touch it, him, and she curled them in to tight fists, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her palms, leaving tiny crescent shaped indentations there.

"Now I know my mother's side of the story, I can better understand her," she confessed sadly then. "I just wish she had told me all this when she was younger, when we could have shared this. When there was still a chance that it could have brought us closer," she sighed deeply.

"That is why I wanted you to come here, Joseph, to read her story, in her own words, so that you would understand _**why**_ she did, _**what**_ she did, and how it affected the rest of her life .... my father's life .... And mine ...."

Vincent carefully opened the journal and read the date inscribed at the top of the page.

_**January 1960**_.

Five years after his birth.

His eyes moved down to the neatly written text, and the first words made his heart constrict in his chest, as he closed his eyes tightly, for a heart beat, and dragged in a deep breath:

_**JANUARY 12 1960.**_

_**My beloved boy is five today. I wonder if he ever thinks of his mother .... as I think of him, often.**_

_**My beloved boy.**_

_**My .... beloved .... boy ....**_

The words reverberated around Vincent's mind as his heart lurched once again in his chest.

_**I have just discovered that I am to have another child, in the summer. July, Patrick O'Shea tells me and Edward is overjoyed. **_

Vincent read on, captivated by his mother's style of writing, and the power of her words.

_**Since I have learned that I am carrying this new life inside me, I have thought even more and more about **_**him**_**. My Joseph.**_

_**Is he happy?**_

_**How tall has he grown?**_

_**Does he .... hate me?**_

_**I hope not. For I only did what I thought was best.**_

_**Even now, today, I am unsure if I am capable of loving any other child, after having loved him for so long. **_

_**Is there room in my heart for another child?**_

_**I hope so.**_

_**After all, for a time, I thought that I would never be able to find room in my heart to love anyone ever again.**_

_**But somehow, my sweet Edward has inveigled his way into my heart, and I can not imagine my life without him.**_

_**But am I worthy of raising this child either?**_

_**No .... I must not think like that.**_

_**Edward is so delighted about this baby. I must not allow him to see my doubts .... My fears ....**_

_**I want this child. I really do .... But if loving it is going to be as heart breaking as loving my beloved boy has been ....**_

_**But .... I **_**do**_** want this child ....**_

_**As much for myself as for my darling Edward.**_

_**Not to replace my Joseph! No, not to replace him, but to prove to myself that I can love another child.**_

_**And because it is the one thing that Edward wants so much, the one good thing that I can do for him, to repay him for his kindness, generosity, compassion and patience.**_

Josephine watched in fascination, as he drew his knees up towards his chest, booted feet resting on the small front rail of the footstool, and balanced his elbows on his knees, his large, fur covered hands cradling the journal as he read each page swiftly, turning over to the next page without taking his eyes from the text.

She watched him for several minutes, convinced that he was unaware of her, and so, she quietly sat down on the floor a few feet away from him, adopting a cross-legged position, and pulled off her scarf, gloves and coat, settling down for what was obviously going to be a very long night.

After about half an hour, so engrossed was he in the scribblings on the page, Vincent forgot about his surroundings, the familiar golden glow of the hurricane lantern putting him at ease, as he allowed himself to become absorbed in the thoughts and feelings that his mother described so eloquently on the pages before him.

However, he was aware of his sister's silent scrutiny of him, sensing from her, curiosity, wonder and total acceptance of him.

Father was right, she was an incredible young woman. Sensitive and understanding.

And vulnerable and sad and lonely.

Even engrossed as he was in his mother's outpourings of love and regret, he could actually _**feel**_ Josephine's emotions, in exactly the same way that he had been able to _**feel**_ Catherine.

He knew her every thought and feeling, her fear that he would disappear into the night, disappear from her life before they had had a chance to get to know each other.

Her understanding of his reticence. His distrust ....

Wariness.

Her understanding that it would take some time for him to come to accept her. For him to be able to reach out to her ....

To trust her.

He also felt her need to reach out to him ....

To offer him love ....

And her regret that she had not known the child that he had been, and that he had not known her as a child.

There were also some very turbulent emotions surrounding her memories of her childhood .... of feeling outcast and exiled .... banished from her family home .... unwanted and unloved by the woman who had handed him over to a stranger .... and had never been able to move beyond that point in her life.

And there was something more ....

Something about her own life ....

A terrible lose.

A pain that went so deep that even she was afraid to revisit it, fearing that it would envelope her and drag her down.

Destroy her.

Vincent was amazed that he could get such a clear sense of her emotions.

The only other person he had been so strongly connected to had been Catherine.

And he had forgotten what it had felt like to be linked in such a way.

But then again ....

They were bound by blood.

Why then should he find it strange that he felt drawn to her, and could feel her emotions as if they were his own?

Could she feel him in the same way? He wondered silently as he flipped over another page and continued to read.

He was also beginning to get a sense of the kind of woman that his mother had been and he was surprised to find that she had not been hard or callous or cruel, simply frightened by her circumstances, and unable to accept that she could offer her child the kind of life that he deserved.

That she had loved him, he no longer doubted.

Was it a healthy kind of love? Or an obsession with something that she could neither have, nor understand, Vincent was not sure.

But .... Surely the most important thing was that she_** had**_ loved him.

Had loved him until her dying breath.

And in doing so, had kept all the other people in her life at arm's length.

Surreptitiously, out of the corner of his eye, Vincent glanced over at his sister, Josephine.

She was regarding him with open curiosity and he could not help wondering why she did not hate him.

Or at the very least, resent his being alive.

For he sensed no malice or antipathy toward him from his sister.

In fact, her feelings of love and acceptance and friendship toward him were growing stronger by the minute.

Vincent could sense most clearly that her life had not been a bed of roses.

For all his aloneness, for all of his feelings of exile and separateness, Vincent had always known the blessing of love. Father had always seen to it that he had felt valued, cared for, safe and secure. Cherished.

All of his fundamental emotional needs had been given the highest priority, trying to fill the child with a warmth and self worth, as though that could, in some small way, make up for all the other things that would be denied him as he grew into manhood, allowing him to grow strong and confident without any resentment for the way that he had looked, his differences.

Allowing him to become a well balanced individual who knew his own worth.

This incredible young woman had felt none of those things from her birth mother, although, from reading between the lines of the journals, and from what little Josephine had said herself, Vincent guessed that her father, Edward Reeve, had also tried to make up for this lack of a mother's love in her life.

However, Vincent knew all too well what that felt like.

Mary and the other ladies Below had always tried to mother him, to show him love and affection and to try to drum so basic discipline into him, teaching him right from wrong with loving patience and offering him the comfort of their embrace when tears were close, amidst the heartache and tragedy that had seemed to dog him throughout his life.

But, it had not been quite the same as the love of the woman who had given birth to him.

Now, he understood.

Josephine too had been denied that kind of love.

How fortunate then, that both had had such caring, devoted and loving fathers ....

Anxious that she should catch him watching her, Vincent returned his gaze to the text on the page before him, and continued to read his mother's words. Her doubts and concerns about the child growing within her body, about whether she would be able to accept this child and love it as it deserved to be loved, as she had not been able to love her first born.

Her musings about her son and how he was fairing.

And as he continued to read, Vincent was getting a better sense of the woman who had given him life.

Josephine sat in a cross-legged position on the floor, watching her brother, amazed at the speed with which he read, his chunky, fur covered fingers, with those dark, sharp looking claws at their tips, swiftly turning the pages.

Sitting there, totally impassive.

She wondered what he was making of her mother's .... _**their**_ mother's thoughts and feelings.

Were they affecting him as deeply as they had affected herself?

She wanted to tell him not to grieve for her, the child that she had been, lacking a mother's love, feeling unwanted and exiled.

It was not his fault.

And she did not blame him.

Truly she did not.

And in the end ....

The whole situation had made her a stronger person.

Josephine wanted to reach out and tell him that she could love him.

For she knew that to be the truth, on some level beyond thought, beyond reason ....

That that was really all that she wanted ....

To love him. As the brother that she had always longed for.

And to know his love in return.

Was that really so much to ask?

Was that really so much to hope for?

Right now .... perhaps.

But they had time.

They had all the time in the world to get to know each other, to learn about each other and the people that they had become.

But ....

Perhaps the most that she could hope for from this first meeting, was that he would understand that she did not hate him, that she did not fear him either. That she wanted to reach out to him. To love him. To instill in him the belief that he could trust her, with his very life if necessary, and that she would accept his presence in her life, in any form that he chose, just so long as he did not disappear again without trace.

It did not take him long to finish the first journal, and he absently reached out for another, making no comment as he flicked through the pages, and Josephine was once again curious to know which journal he had picked up this time, and what he was making of all of this.

She inched a little closer to him carefully, but he noticed the small movement immediately, his head snapping up, and the soft light from the nearby hurricane lantern made his eyes glitter like jewels, although, still deep in shadow inside that loose, capacious hood, Josephine could not discern what color they were.

However, she could tell that there was nothing animal .... feline .... about them.

Silently, Josephine cursed herself for being a fool, for trying to rush things.

It was far too soon for him to trust her enough to reveal himself to her.

But ....

She was getting tantalizing glimpses .... of his hands .... the clothes that he was wearing beneath that much mended homespun cloak of patchwork that covered him from head to foot.

He was wearing dark corduroy breeches, probably a chocolate brown, and soft leather boots that had not been very well cobbled together, although the soles seemed sturdy enough.

Where his cloak parted a little around his waist, Josephine could see a large silver belt buckle, attached to a wide black leather belt, and there was just a hint of a loose fitting, snowy white shirt above it.

Of his face, Josephine could still make out no details at all.

But his voice ....

That wonderful voice ....

She would never forget it, even if she never heard it again after this night.

Honey, velvet and gravel exquisitely combined.

By the time he had reached the fourth volume, Josephine could barely keep her eyes open, but she fought valiantly against the needs of her body for sleep.

_**Sleep?**_

_**How could she possible sleep at a time like this?**_

The quietness of the attic and the soft light of the hurricane lantern had a soothing, hypnotic affect.

Maybe if she pretended to be asleep, he would lower his guard, just a little, relax enough to reveal a little more of him self to her.

Meaning only to rest her weary bones, Josephine flattened out her coat a little more, on the hard wooden floor, and lay down, pulling the heavy woolen material about her more closely.

Vincent, engrossed in yet another of Andrea Reeve's journals, chose to ignore the movement that he caught out of the corner of his eye.

He could sense Josephine's weariness, and also her frustration that he was showing no reaction to his mother's words.

She needed sleep, but was fighting against it, her need to see him, look upon him, reach out to him and show him her unquestioning and unconditional acceptance of him so overwhelming, that she could think of nothing else.

Except her fear that if she slept, when next she awoke, it would be to find him gone. Forever.

Vincent lifted his gaze from the text, and turned his head slightly to look more closely at his sister, still astounded that she had no fear whatsoever of him, that she trusted him so deeply that she could even contemplate sleeping with him so close by.

"Josephine ...."

"Mm?" She responded absently.

"Sleep …." He encouraged softly.

"Oh no. I'm all right," she tried to assure, but spoiled the effect by yawning softly.

"You are tired ...."

"Yes .... I am .... but ...."

"Rest, little sister. I have much here to keep me occupied and I will not leave without saying goodbye," Vincent assured in soft, velvet tones.

"Promise?" She said in a small, childlike voice.

"I promise," Vincent pledge solemnly in return.

"Well .... okay ...." Josephine acquiesced softly, snuggling up in her coat, the simple gesture reminding Vincent of young Jacob, and the way he snuggled up to his pillows when sleep was close, and showing Vincent just how trusting she was of him.

She truly was _**not**_ afraid of him.

She truly had accepted him, and his differences, sight unseen.

Because he was her brother.

It was as simple as that.

As Josephine settled into a light slumber, Vincent settled back into his reading, still more of his mother's thoughts, fears and feelings inscribed in fading ink on the pages before him.

By now, he had read Andrea Reeve's account of Josephine's birth, without complication, on July 30th 1960, and how she had welcomed the child, a beautiful girl child, with her father's dark hair and complexion.

But how quickly her fears had set in.

Fears that if she gave her heart to this child she would lose her, just as she had lost her beloved son.

During this time, Andrea was consumed with thoughts of her son, what he was doing, how he was getting on in the world, never for one moment, Vincent realized with heart stopping clarity, doubting that he_** had**_ survived infancy.

In fact, at one point, Andrea Reeve had committed to the page, her sincere belief that he was alive, that she could _**feel**_ that he was alive, and growing stronger with the passing of every day.

And although he continued to read meticulously, Vincent was a little disappointed to discover that there was no actual detail, no reference to his conception and subsequent birth.

He began to wonder if his sister had misled him in getting him here.

Or, had Andrea simply found the whole thing just too traumatic to write about, even five years on?

The night was almost gone, Orion having reached well past it's zenith in the inky sky above the small square skylight, as Vincent set aside the last volume.

He had learned much.

Yes.

He had learned all of his mother's thoughts and fears.

And he had learned that his sister had also endured much pain and heartache and tragedy in her young life.

Something else that they had in common.

The loss of a husband that she had loved deeply.

And the loss of a child, much longed for and much cherished.

He thanked providence that he had been spared that particular pain, although, for a time, it had seemed that he would never get baby Jacob back from Gabriel's clutches.

Young Jacob was the greatest treasure in his life, growing stronger and healthier every day.

If anything should ever happen to the boy ....

The thought was far too painful, and Vincent closed his eyes against the horrors conjured up in his mind.

_**Nothing**_ was going to happen to Jacob. Vincent would give his own life first.

He set aside the journal and turned his head slightly to look at the pretty young woman sleeping just a few feet away from him.

Yes ....

She had endured much, and had become a stronger person because of it.

But ....

It would, he knew, have been better not to have had to endure at all.

And yes ....They had much in common.

They had both lost so much ....

He, his beloved Catherine, she, her Jeff, the only person in her life, other than her father, from whom she had really known love, and Amy, a beautiful daughter, much longed for, deeply loved, and whom she would now never see grow to adulthood.

Although Catherine was not truly lost, not yet. He could still see her, touch her, be close to her ....

He could still cling to the slimmest of hopes that one day, one glorious day, those beautiful grey/green eyes would open and settle on his face, shining with all of Catherine's love for him, those sweet lips would curve into a smile of genuine love and pleasure and utter his name as only she could ....

But ....

Josephine's loved ones were truly beyond her reach .... gone .... forever ....

He was the only soul that she was bound to now on this earthly plain.

No wonder she wanted to reach out to him.

But ....

It was not solely through loneliness.

It was simply because he was her brother.

That they were bound by blood and genes, even if his were a little tainted.

That truly did not matter to Josephine.

Such total acceptance he had never known before, and Vincent's heart rejoiced as he continued to watch Josephine as she slept, her expression soft and her cheeks softly flushed, the occasional little sigh coming from her slightly parted lips ....

And yet ....

Having taken this voyage of discovery through his mother's memories and her life, Vincent felt that there was something missing.

Andrea had held nothing back, her anger and hatred and venom toward herself in the beginning .... her love .... of him .... how she had felt it necessary to keep the daughter that she had loved, just as fiercely, at arm's length ....

Every detail of all their lives for the past forty years ....

So, then ....

Why was there no account of how he had come into the world ....

As Josephine had led him to believe there was.

He felt sure that Andrea would have wanted him to know that too.

And he also felt sure that there was a volume of the journals missing.

Vincent carefully hunted through each of the journals that he had read, once more, finding volumes dating back from 1956 through to 1994, but the journal for 1955, the year of his birth, seemed conspicuous by its absence.

In reaching out to replace the last journal amongst the others, Vincent made contact with a heavy brass bedstead, which made a loud scraping noise, which startled Josephine into wakefulness.

She sat bolt upright, blinking rapidly in confusion, then rubbing her eyes, she once again became accustomed to the soft golden light.

"Do not fear ...." Vincent broke the silence in soft, husky, reassuring tones.

"Joseph?"

"I did not mean to wake you ...."

"No ... I'm glad that you did. I didn't mean to drift off like that. Have I been asleep long?"

"An hour or two ...."

"Good heavens! I'm sorry. what must you think of me ...."

"Josephine ...." He cut her off, but not abruptly, and she smiled softly, liking the sound of her name on his lips.

She looked at him then, still seated on the footstool, shrouded in shadow and half light, and there was something else in his voice, something so vulnerable.

"Yes, Joseph?"

"I .... I ...." He faltered briefly. "I do not seem able to find a journal for the year 1955 .... the year of my birth .... nothing that I have read so far .... describes .... how .... I came .... to be ...."

"Ah ...." Josephine expelled the word on a deep sigh, carefully crossing her legs as she remained seated on her coat.

"Josephine?" Vincent could sense her turbulent emotions, fear amongst them, but not fear _**of**_ him.

Fear_** for**_ him.

Fear that he would not like what he discovered about his origins.

"I have something of a confession to make," Josephine spoke softly, carefully avoiding looking in his direction now. "There is a journal for that year. It is right here, in my pocket, you see, I was going to give it to you at the lagoon, earlier, but then I got cold feet, changed my mind. I guess I didn't want you to go off and read it on your own. It's too .... painful .... sensitive ...." She explained hurriedly. "Either you should stay here and read it with me, or take it home with you, and read it with .... your family ...."

"Josephine ...."

"Look .... I know that you want answers, that you came here looking for the truth, but I didn't want that to be the first thing that you read. I didn't want that to be the end of it .... us .... and I guess I knew that it would be. I wasn't trying to hide the truth from you. I just wanted a fair chance to present all the facts to you ...."

"You wanted to protect me?"

"No .... Not protect you, just allow you to discover Andrea through her journals, to let you see what this did to her .... me .... my father .... to help you to understand, so that when you eventually discovered how this all started, how you came to be, you would be able to see past the .... past the pain of it all, and know the woman who was your mother ...."

"Josephine, I know who I am and what I am, but the truth of how such as I came into the world has haunted me these past forty years. You told me that you could provide me with answers, but, in doing so, you fear the consequences ...." Vincent let out a long, ragged sigh.

"Joseph ...."

"Josephine, whatever is contained within the pages of that journal, it is my heritage. For forty years I have dreamed .... pretended .... imagined .... Now, all I want is the truth. Whatever that may be. I am strong enough to take it ...." He assured resolutely. "Please .... allow me to complete the journey. It is, after all, what our mother wanted," he concluded.

"Okay ...." Josephine acquiesced, knowing that he was right.

She rose to her knees somewhat stiffly then, and lifted her coat, digging in the pocket for the journal and then, with visibly trembling fingers, she held it out to her brother.

"You said that I should not read this alone ...." She could hear the question in his voice now, and smiled softly.

"I'm not going anywhere, Joseph .... ever ...." She assured softly now. "I will always be there for you .... please, know that .... believe that .... whenever you need me .... no matter what .... I will be there for you ...."

"And this is one of those occasions?"

"I think so. Trust me ...."

"Very well."

Vincent took the thick dark blue leather bound journal from Josephine's trembling fingers, and waited while she made herself comfortable once more on her coat, once again adopting the cross-legged position that she obviously felt most comfortable in, remaining just outside the pool of soft, golden light given off by the hurricane lantern, and watched as her brother opened the journal at last, and began to read.

It was not long before she began to sense the build up of tension inside him.

He sat up, rigid and straight on the footstool, his back ramrod straight, a tense set to his broad shoulders, as he continued to read, these things translating themselves to Josephine as tension and a slowly building rage that she found somewhat confusing, but no less real.

As he continued to read, Josephine was startled to hear from his lips, a soft snarl, and then another, and then another, each slightly louder than the preceding one.

"Joseph? Are you all right?" She enquired with genuine concern.

Vincent suddenly let forth a might roar, and despite the fact that Josephine was completely aware of just how different her brother was, she could not help but feel startled by the sound that came from his lips .... the animal quality of it ....

"Joseph ...."

She spoke his name, her tone edged with confusion and concern, as Vincent rose sharply to his full impressive height of well over six feet, or so Josephine estimated, and began to pace jerkily back and forth across the small space that she had cleared for their use earlier in the evening.

His cloak was swirling about his booted ankles, a fine red mist creeping across his vision from the corners of his eyes, his blood pounding through his veins as he felt the old familiar surge of rage course through him.

"Joseph ...."

Vincent made no response, save for peeling back his top lip in another snarl, tossing his head, trying to rid his mind of Paracelsus' menacing face and taunting voice.

He was far too angry to care about what the young woman would think of this display.

Far too disgusted and sickened by what he had read.

_**That man ....**_

_**Paracelsus ....**_

How right Narcissa had been to call him _**the evil one ....**_

In his twisted mind.

Paracelsus had _**not**_ been lying.

He really had considered himself to be Vincent's father.

For he had surely sewn the seed that had resulted in his creation.

Kidnapping an innocent young woman, naive and vulnerable and trusting .... obviously distraught and disorientated .... incarcerating her .... _**Below**_ .... impregnating her with semen that he had obviously tampered with .... genetically altered .... for his own sick reasons .... and keeping her captive, bound and gagged, in a darkened room for month after month .... until the child could be born ....

And all in the name of experimentation .... using Andrea as a guinea pig, before trying the same procedure on his devoted, loyal, loving wife, Anna, so that she might bare the child that she so longed for, and he could glory in the power of life .... and death ....

That evil .... wicked .... vile .... insane man ....

He had not been lying on that night six years ago.

For in his mind, having been the one to impregnate Vincent's mother, he saw himself as the babe's creator. Father.

In his twisted mind, he had seen Vincent as his son, his heir and having to watch from a distance, all those years, as his most hated enemy, most bitter rival, Jacob Wells, had taken the child under his wing and raised him, as his own, forced to watch and wait and bide his time, something had snapped inside Paracelsus. The last vestiges of goodness, if indeed, there had ever been any, had died, leaving behind the insane monster, who had wanted his revenge, at any cost and saw Vincent as a means to that end.

The anger that was building up inside of Vincent had a life of it's own, as he paced back and forth across the attic, narrowly avoiding crashing heedlessly into furniture, sculptures and old chests, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps.

_**No ....**_

_**Not now ....**_

_**Not here ....**_

_**It cannot begin again .... not here ....**_

But ....

It _**was**_ beginning again, and he was losing his tenuous grasp on reality, and his precious control.

The pressure was building up, becoming unbearable, but Vincent still had enough awareness to know that he could not give vent to this, _**darker **_side to his nature here.

_**Not in front of Josephine ....**_

He could not allow the beast to be released here, in his sister's home.

Not in the place where his mother had lived, putting together the shards of her shattered life, dreaming her dreams, wishing her wishes, hoping that her son had found the kind of life that she had wished for him.

If only she had known how close her tormentor had come to destroying her son.

Thank God she would never know that, never know that she had entrusted her child to the one person who could return him to his creator.

Fortunately, Anna Pater had had a quick mind, grasping the situation and it's implications quickly, and she had had the good sense to go to Jacob Wells with the child.

And the rest was history.

She must have worked out what her beloved John had been doing .... Had seen with her own eyes, the results of that experimentation.

And yet, she too had seen only the beauty and the strength of the child, knowing that as easily as he had created this wondrous being, so could John Pater destroy it.

And the punishment for her treachery had been .... a poisoned chalice .... wine from the hand of the man that she had loved .... tainted, no doubt with some other odious, noxious concoction distilled for his own lurid purposes. No quick, painless death for the woman who had betrayed his trust.

No ....

For her, slow agony, as the poison had worked it's way outward, around her body, destroying her cell by cell, nerve ending by nerve ending, until she had finally suffocated.

And all the time, _**He**_ had been watching, waiting, reveling in her pain and anguish.

To protect the child, and Jacob Wells, Anna had concocted the story of finding him outside St Vincent's hospital, knowing that John Pater would never admit to such wickedness that had given the child life, at least, not straight away.

And once Jacob Wells had committed himself to the babe, given his heart to the extraordinary child, Anna had known that his future would be a safe one.

**You are .... my son**_** ...**_

Paracelsus evil voice reverberated in Vincent's mind once again.

_**No ....**_

_**Not again ....**_

_**Not now ....**_

_**I must hold on ....**_

_**I must .... hold .... on ....**_

"Joseph?"

Josephine Grayson's soft voice suddenly penetrated his thoughts, and Vincent stopped dead in his tracks.

"Joseph, are you all right?" Josephine asked in genuine concern, taking in his wild, frantic eyes and rapid breathing. She had risen swiftly to her feet and was about to move toward him.

_**"No!"**_ Vincent hissed through clenched teeth. "Stay where you are! _**Please**_ ...." He insisted.

He barely had control of himself, and was terrified about what might happen if she came too close.

Catherine had been the only one who could get through to him when he was in this terrible rage, when he was this close to losing control.

Josephine was extremely puzzled by his strange reaction.

Over reaction.

His anger was almost a tangible thing, palpable, crackling the air around them, and there was a frenzied quality to those darkly shadowed eyes.

"Joseph .... I know that it's hard .... unsavory .... unpleasant .... but you did want to know the truth .... didn't you?"

_**"The truth**_?" He spat the words venomously. "Oh yes .... _**now**_ I _**know**_ the _**truth **_...."

This time he snarled and in the glow of the hurricane lantern, Josephine could see four very thick, long, sharply pointed fangs .... two at the bottom of his mouth and two at the bottom, where his incisor teeth should have been, as well as twin rows of very white teeth glistening in his mouth.

He was breathing so hard that she feared that he might begin hyperventilating, fighting for control as he struggled with some inner demon.

Josephine could also sense the tension in every muscle in his body.

He was wound up tightly like a spring. Like a ticking bomb waiting to go off.

"Joseph .... I don't understand ...." Josephine took a step forward, afraid, but not for her self, fearful that he was on the verge of a coronary, or some other form of physical collapse.

Vincent instinctively took a step backward, away from her.

Josephine took another step forward, arms outstretched toward him, as he continued to back away from her.

"Joseph .... please ...." She implored softly.

"This man .... you know as John Pater .... this man was closer to me than either of us realized .... all my life .... near .... watching .... waiting .... biding his time .... plotting and planning my downfall .... as an enemy .... and a threat to all that I hold dear ...." Vincent choked out, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps.

"Joseph?" Josephine frowned deeply.

"This man .... tormented me .... threatened those closest to me .... until I had no other choice than .... to kill him ...."

"Then you did us both a favor," Josephine sighed deeply. "And you avenged Andrea ...."

Josephine was surprised by her reaction to this piece of information. Complete indifference.

In her mind, the man Pater was a monster, and he deserved what he had got, and now was not the time to dwell on the possibility that her brother was capable of murder.

_**To protect those he loved?**_

_**Self defense? **_

_**Or in defense of his home and those people most precious to him?**_

__In circumstances like that, everyone had the capability for murder.

_**Even she did.**_

She had been forced to acknowledge that revelation a long time ago, when Amy and Jeff had died, and she had wanted her revenge on the man responsible, who had been freed from the wreckage of the gas tanker, but who had later died in hospital.

"Murder is something that we are all capable of Joseph, if provoked enough. I've seen the end results of enough crimes of passion, and have felt moved enough myself ...." She confided softly.

However, her words did not seem to be affording him any comfort as he continued to back away from her outstretched hand.

"Joseph .... please .... let me help you ...."

"Help me? You cannot help me! There is no help for one such as I ...." He snorted, tossing his head so violently that the hood of his cloak slipped back, revealing him in all his glory to his sister's hungry eyes.

"That's not true ...." Josephine gaped at him in awed astonishment, taking in the leonine features, the big, wild, all too human eyes that were as deep as the clearest, cloudless vast blue sky that she had ever seen, the cleft lip, the ginger down and whisker covered planes of his cheeks and long, square jaw, and that hair .... that glorious riot of red/gold hair that fell in a silken curtain about his shoulders ....

_**Lord .... but he was beautiful!**_

_**He truly was.**_

And now, Josephine truly understood what Andrea had seen in the infant boy's face all those years ago.

Beauty.

Hope.

Greatness.

"You are my brother ...." She said absently. "My brother ...."

"I am nothing ...." Vincent spat at her, unaware that she could see all that he was, aware only of the love radiating from her. "And you must forget that I even exist ...."

"But I don't want to forget. I can't ...."

"You _**must**_!"

"Why dammit? Because _**you**_ say so?" She demanded, a certain defiance in her voice now, which took Vincent aback. Only Father and Catherine had ever faced up to him in this kind of wrath, with the courage to challenge him, reason with him, and they had both done so out of love.

"Look at you," Josephine took another step closer, and this time, Vincent had nowhere to go, as he was backed up against an old ottoman.

Feeling trapped, he tossed his head quickly from side to side, eyes frantically seeking an escape route, and it was only when his hair whipped across his face and clung to his coarse cheek, that Vincent realized that he was no longer protected from her view by the hood, and that instead of gasping in horror, or fleeing into the night, giving vent to full throated screams of revulsion and terror, Josephine was gazing upon his unique countenance with an air of perfect calm and serenity, smiling softly ....

And he could feel her love for him.

He could feel her acceptance of him.

Her joy. Her pleasure.

And it almost took his breath away.

She was not repulsed by his appearance.

She did not feel revulsion in the face of his _**otherness**_ ....

On the contrary ....

Instead ....

She thought that he was beautiful.

And she truly did understand .... everything .... completely ....

There was no need for words.

Any words at all would have been inadequate to describe the love that she felt for him .... and the need that she felt to reach out to him, to help him.

Vincent stared at Josephine in total astonishment, feeling his anger rising and falling with every beat of his heart, like a relentless incoming tide, crashing against the shore, only to recede a little way, then coming crashing in once more.

"Yes .... look at me ...." He panted raggedly. "Let me tell you what you see ...." He sneered.

"I see beauty, Joseph. You truly are beautiful. It radiates from within you. Strength and goodness and hope ...." She spoke in a very low voice, filled with wonder and love. "Now I understand what Mother saw in you. Why she knew that you were destined for other .... greater .... things .... Please .... let me help you ...."

Josephine quickly closed the gap between them, and Vincent, rooted to the spot, unable to move, was astounded and amazed by her reaction.

He could feel no fear in her, no distrust, and no hint of malice or cruelty.

Instead ....

He could feel love.

Pure and beautiful, and unconditional.

He could feel her joy radiating through him, washing over him like warm water, seeping into his bones to drive away the chill that was years of fear and distrust of strangers and futile rage that he had been born so completely different.

As she drew closer, Josephine could see that he was shaking, could see the sparks of anger in those beautiful cobalt blue eyes, but she knew implicitly that he was neither afraid of her, nor angry with her.

"My beautiful brother ...." She breathed, as she reached up slowly and twined her arms gently around his neck and waist and drew him closer to her.

He did not fight her, but his whole body was rigid and trembling, as though he were fighting to maintain control.

And she knew that he was fighting not to give into some terrible impulse.

His darker nature.

"Joseph, you have every right to be angry. The man was .... an utter bastard .... cruel, wicked .... insane .... but you must not let his legacy destroy you. You are Andrea's legacy too, and all that is good and beautiful in you, you inherited from her ...." Josephine soothed, gently stroking his lustrous mane of red/gold hair in a reassuring rhythm.

He made a very strange, strangulated sound, something between a groan and a snarl, and Josephine wrapped her arms around him more tightly, squeezing him against her warm body, feeling his rage crash through her.

And then ....

Just as suddenly ....

She felt him let out a deep, shuddering breath, and his body relaxed in her arms, as his head fell forward to rest gently against her shoulder.

His anger, which had been building into a crescendo had suddenly evaporated, and in the same instant, Vincent felt a great jolt, like electricity, course through his entire body, as her warmth and her love flowed through him, illuminating all the dark places in his soul, filling them with light and love and tranquility, as though something that had always been missing deep inside him had finally come home.

Vincent's spirit began to soar.

Rocked to his very core, he felt all his anger, bitterness, resentfulness and tension drain away from him, leaving him feeling light headed and elated, as he staggered forward.

And Josephine absorbed his weight, cushioning his fall, enveloping him in her arms and cradling his still trembling body as he leaned heavily against her.

"It's all right, Joseph. I am here now. I am here. I love you, and nothing will ever separate us again. I promise. You are a part of me now, and I am a part of you ..." Josephine crooned lovingly, and just for an instant, she felt it too.

Could _**feel**_ his relief and his wonder.

Could_** feel**_ his very heart, beating in time with her own.

"We are one .... meant to be .... together at last .... Do you feel it?"

"Yes ..." Vincent replied in a low, gravel voice, his eyes bright with unshed tears of love and relief.

He could offer no explanation for this sudden turn in events.

Nor did he want one.

He only knew that he was free.

It was as if the heavy weight, the burden that he had carried with him all of his life, the burden of being who and what he was, two tortured souls occupying the same space, body, so different, so diverse, one pure and good, the other dark and untamable. So completely at odds with each other. That terrible burden, that interminable struggle, had suddenly been lifted, and he felt lighter, free, his soul knew no bounds, no limitations ....

Never again to feel the despair of having to fight for control over his wild, animal nature.

For miraculously, it no longer existed.

He truly was free.

And his sister truly was a special woman.

His sister.

And just for an instant, she was sharing this Bond with equal strength, depth, knowing him, all that he was, all that he knew, as if she were the link that had been missing, the only thing that could make him whole.

And he knew that things would never be quite the same again.

Josephine felt the jolt surge through her own body at almost the same time, but she was able to absorb its impact, concentrating on cushioning the blow to her brother with a strong, loving embrace.

_**An empath?**_

_**He is an empath? **_She thought in wonder.

__It felt so good to have her arms wrapped around his sturdy body.

And to be the one offering reassurance and giving comfort, instead of being the one seeking those things.

It felt so good.

She was home.

Whole at last.

Complete and at peace.

And so was he.

She knew it as surely as she knew that the sun would rise on the morrow, and set again, perpetually and for all eternity.

Wanting to look at him once more, needing to commit that beauty and goodness to memory, Josephine reluctantly took a small step backward, and noted with satisfaction the look of intense disappointment in his beautiful expressive blue eyes.

Smiling softly, she reached up with her right hand and delicately caressed his chin, before cupping his cheek with her warm hand, savoring the contrasting textures of his prickly, rough whiskered chin, and the velvety smooth softness of his down covered cheek.

Josephine slowly reached up with the other hand, and caressed his other cheek, paying it similar homage, then slowly rising up on tip toe, to press soft, warm lips to each cheek, before finally touching them to the sensitive area of his cleft top lip.

"Our souls are as one, Joseph ...."

"Vincent ...." He corrected in a low, gruff voice, edged with barely suppressed emotion.

"Vincent ...." She drew away slightly, a soft smile curving at her lips. "Vincent! Of course! St Vincent's, I should have guessed. Vincent ...." She savored the sound of it on her lips, before once again pressing them to his.

Vincent watched her in wonder as she drew closer once more.

_**How could he be so blessed?**_

_**To have this woman as his sister.**_

And yet.

He had almost let this glorious moment pass him by.

The immensity of what had passed between them was not lost on Vincent.

For an instant, she had shared both mind and body with him, as he had with her and now there was no going back.

It was different to the Bond that he had shared with Catherine.

Deeper.

Healing.

And, in other ways too.

No urgency. No fear. No sense of peril. No constant threat.

Just peace.

And love.

All healing. All powerful. Unconditional.

Love.

He did not know how it could be.

It was just another of those _**differences**_ that set him aside from other beings.

And if they never shared such an intense moment on oneness again, at least they had had _**this**_ moment.

His heart was beating an erratic tattoo in his chest and his lungs were burning with the need to breathe deeply.

But Vincent could not move.

It was as though he no longer had a will of his own.

And then, Josephine drew away, removing her tender, sweet lips from his own, hideously deformed ones, and the spell, or whatever it was, was finally broken.

Vincent blinked rapidly once or twice and drew in deep, ragged breaths until his blood stopped pounding in his ears and his heart beat more regularly.

He quickly noted that Josephine was equally stunned by what had just passed between then, tears rolling down her pale cheeks.

Tears of love which he could feel radiating out toward him, warming him, giving him peace.

Tears which melted away when she smiled at him, and reached out to take one of his large, fur covered hands in her own, mindless of the sharp claws, as she gently stroked her thumb across the sensitive skin of his palm and coaxed him back across the room to the footstool and the hurricane lantern.

They sat down on the floor opposite each other, and just stared at each other for several minutes, as they tried to put some meaning into what had just happened.

But ....

Neither could ....

And each sensed the moment when the other simply accepted that it simply_** had**_ happened.

"Tell me about yourself, Vincent," Josephine invited in soft tones, some time later. She could no longer feel him so strongly inside her mind, but hints of him, his thoughts and his feelings, still lingered, leaving behind an essence of who and what he was.

Slowly becoming aware of his surroundings once more, Vincent also became aware that time had defeated both of them, the night almost over. In no time at all, it would be light and he would no longer be safe, in this, her world.

"Vincent?" Josephine followed his gaze upward to the skylight, where the inky darkness of the night had already mellowed to the deep blue of pre dawn.

"I .... have to go .... For me .... there is great danger in daylight ...." Vincent spoke as if in a dream, not wanting to leave, but knowing that he must.

"You know that I don't want you to go, Vincent, that you would be safe, here, with me ...." Josephine said softly, and Vincent could hear the disappointment in her voice now, that beautifully modulated voice with more than just a hint of an English accent.

And he could feel her disappointment too, and her lingering fear, that she would never see him again after this night.

"I know it .... I too would like to stay .... but ...." He confessed softly. "I cannot ...."

"Your family would be worried ...."

"Yes," He smiled softly, pleased by her intuitiveness.

"But .... I will .... see you .... again?"

"Yes," he assured, rising then, slowly, to his full impressive height of well over six feet, and this time, he opened his arms to her.

Josephine came into the circle of his embrace willingly, and snuggled up against him with a contented little sigh.

"Be well, my sister ...." Vincent tentatively reached up to the back of her head and gently stroked her soft, dark hair.

"You too, my brother," Josephine echoed softly. "Don't stay away too long. We still have much to say to each other ...."

"We will see each other soon .... but .... for now .... I must go ...."

Vincent drew away from her slowly, loathing to break their connection, but knowing that he must.

"I will be in touch ...." He vowed, taking a step back from her.

"I'm not going anywhere .... now that I have found you ...."

Josephine suddenly bent down and retrieved the journal that had fallen from his lap when he had begun pacing, reaching out to press it into his hand.

"Take this. It will help you to explain to your family ...."

"Thank you ...."

Josephine watched then as he moved the ottoman with ease, until it was directly under the skylight, and then climbed up on top of it, easing the small square of glass open once more. He reached up to test if he could pull himself up and through, his powerful arms and upper body making egress easy for him, as he quickly disappeared from her view, and when she thought that he had gone, Josephine felt her heart skip a beat.

And then he was leaning back in through the open skylight, hood drawn back up over his head, and she smiled up at him.

"God speed, Vincent ...."

"Be well Josephine. Until we meet again ...."

And then he really was gone, and Josephine sank down on to the footstool, her heart light, her lips curved into a soft, warm smile full of love as tears of pure elation rolled unchecked down her cheeks.

_**At last .... I am whole ....**_

_**At last ....**_

_**I am free ....**_

_**At last ....**_

_**We are one .... never to be alone again ....**_

_**I am truly blessed ....**_

_**Blessed ....**_

_**To have one so unique and thoroughly beautiful as my brother ....**_

_**Vincent ....**_

_**Mother ....**_

_**You were right.**_

_**You were right ....**_

_**He is beautiful ...**_

_**Unique ....**_

_**And now that I have found him ....**_

_**Life will never be the same ....**_

_**Thank you Mother ....**_

_**Thank you ….**_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO.**

Even as he made the return journey Below, reaching the safety of the cement drainage culvert and the junction door beyond it just before first light, Vincent went over and over and over again in his mind, recalling the incredible events of the night just passed, remembering the wonder and the miracle that was that extraordinary connection, melding of mind and spirit with his sister.

He took the familiar route from the Central Park threshold, down to the golden hued home tunnels swiftly, his dark, flowing cloak swirling around his ankles, boots kicking up small eddies of dust as he moved, with that familiar, rolling gait, long economical strides eating up the ground as he went.

Vincent made his way directly to Father's chamber, ever conscious of the weight of his mother's journal in his hand, and the enormity of the information contained within it.

As he entered the large, cavernous chamber silently, Vincent found Jacob Wells seated in his favorite chair beside the chessboard, head bowed, chin buried in his chest, snoring softly, and he could not suppress the surge of love and warmth that he felt for this wise, caring old man from welling up inside him.

The soft vibration of Vincent's footsteps on the metal treads of the four steps leading down from the vestibule, which had once graced a very ornate pulpit in a large, darkly vaulted church in the city, disturbed the older man's light slumber, and his head rose somewhat jerkily, as he blinked his eyes rapidly to push away the last veil of sleep.

"Vincent?" He yawned softly.

"Yes. It is all right, Father," Vincent assured softly, crossing the chamber on large strides.

"Are you just now getting in? It must be almost dawn ...." Jacob Wells chided, rubbing sleep from the corner of his eye before regarding his son curiously.

"Yes Father. I am just getting in, and yes, it is almost dawn, but I was careful. No-one saw me."

Jacob Wells let his deep sapphire blue gaze rest on his son's familiar, unique countenance as he stood before him.

"It went well," he said, a statement rather than a question, for as Father regarded his beloved son, he could see almost immediately that there was something very different about the younger man this morning.

As Vincent pushed back his hood and unhooked the clasp at the neck of his cloak, swinging the patched and much mended garment from around his broad shoulders and allowing it to fall over the back of the chair opposite Father, the older man could see that his son seemed, different, changed.

It was hard to explain, but there was something about his eyes.

Those beautiful, cobalt blue eyes, always so expressive, always so guarded, haunted .... very clear windows to his troubled soul.

This morning, that haunted quality was no longer obvious, and there was no trace of the usual tension in his face.

Indeed, the younger man had such an air of serenity and inner peace and calm as Jacob Wells had ever seen in him before.

"You were right, Father," Vincent spoke softly, taking the seat opposite his Father, and reaching out to take one of the older man's gnarled, half gloved hands in his own. "My sister is indeed an incredible woman."

The expression on Vincent's dear face was unreadable, and his tone of voice had a mysterious quality, which brought a frown to his dear parent's old brow.

"Vincent?"

"It did go well, Father," Vincent confirmed, letting out a soft sigh.

"You liked her too," Father smiled softly in return, trying to smother a yawn in his whiskers at the same time.

"What is there not to like?"

Vincent's beautiful, soulful eyes sparkled with amusement as they regarded Father steadily.

"Yes. I did like her. She is very strong .... courageous .... warm .... witty .... vibrant .... persuasive .... vulnerable ...." He paused briefly. "She has endured much, Father ...."

There was such a wealth of sadness in his deep, husky voice, just for a moment, and Father regarded his son curiously.

"We have much in common, Josephine and I," Vincent added.

"Tell me? What did you discover?" Jacob Wells probed gently.

"This," Vincent placed the large, navy blue leather bound journal, which Josephine had pressed into his hand before he had left her, on the table between them.

"And this is?"

"The truth," Vincent replied simply.

"The truth?" Father arched an eyebrow curiously.

"Yes, but we already knew a part of it," Vincent added cryptically.

"Vincent ...."

"Father .... Paracelsus .... Paracelsus was ...." Vincent faltered briefly, wanting to find a way to break the truth to his father in as gentle and as sensitive a way as possible.

However, as he watched Father regarding him impatiently from across the table, Vincent knew that there was no other way than to tell it as it was, plain and simple.

"Father .... In a way .... John Pater .... was my .... father ...." Vincent sighed deeply.

_**"What!"**_ Jacob Wells exclaimed, jerking in his chair.

"He was responsible for my .... conception ...." Vincent went on in soft, honeyed tones.

"Vincent, what are you talking about?" Father demanded gruffly.

"It is all there," Vincent gently pushed the unopened book across the table towards his beloved father. "Read it for yourself ...."

"Have you ...."

"Have I read it? Yes."

"And?"

"Read it, Father, so that you will know what I now know .... from her hand. Her account of the events leading up to my conception .... and birth ...."

When Jacob Wells hesitated briefly, Vincent squeezed his hand gently.

"Go ahead, Father. It is all right. I know the truth of it now, and I have survived it .... barely .... but with Josephine's help .... with her love and understanding .... I _**have**_ survived ...." Vincent assured softly.

Jacob Wells extracted his hand from his son's gentle grasp and pulled the book closer to him, flipping over the front cover and reading the simple inscription inside.

_**My son ....**_

The older man was soon engrossed in the narrative, the thoughts and memories committed to the page by Andrea Reeve, and intermittently, looked up to regard his son with concern filled eyes, and an angry twist to his lips.

"Dear God ...." There was disbelief and outrage in the older man's voice now. "I .... I .... I had no idea, Vincent .... no idea. You must believe me ...."

"I know that now, and I do believe you, Father. You were misled .... manipulated ...." Vincent conceded softly. "But you see, even in his madness, Paracelsus was telling the truth. He may not have been my actual biological father, but he _**was**_ responsible for impregnating my mother, therefore, he _**was**_ responsible for _**creating me ....**_"

"Dear God, Vincent .... I had no idea ...."

"No-one did Father, until it was too late .... when Anna discovered Andrea and grasped the situation .... So, please, do not torture yourself with might have beens. No-one could have stopped him."

"No .... but that poor girl ...."

"Yes. Yes .... Paracelsus was very cruel and wicked .... the way he incarcerated her .... held her against her will .... bound and gagged, and in near total darkness all those months .... Toying with her emotions, playing with her mind .... experimenting on her .... I cannot help wondering what he would have done with Andrea .... had she given birth to me in his presence, as he had so obviously planned ...."

"I knew that John was .... frustrated .... angry .... bitter .... sick .... I knew how desperately he wanted a child .... how desperately Anna wanted a child .... how despondent they both were when she continued to miscarry .... but .... I had no idea that John would go to those kind of lengths ...." Father paused for a moment, reaching out to take his son's hand and squeeze it gently.

"And then, to lose everything that he had worked so hard for, to be banished .... exiled from the world that he had helped to create .... and to then have to sit back and watch .... me, the man that he hated .... blamed for his fall from grace .... take you under his wing, nurture you, nurse you, educate you .... love you .... in his place .... No wonder he finally lost his hold on reality ...."

Jacob Wells let out a long, ragged sigh then.

"And I killed him," Vincent said in a low, gruff voice. "I killed him, because I could not bear to hear those foul lies coming from his lips. And yet, it now transpires that it was the truth, Father ...."

"A twisted, evil version of the truth, Vincent. Even then he could not tell you the real truth. Just enough to whet your appetite, to gain a small measure of control over you .... your thoughts .... your emotions ...."

"It does not change the fact that I killed him."

"You did what you had to do, Vincent, and as it turns out .... You avenged your poor mother .... in doing so ...."

"That is what Josephine said," Vincent allowed himself a small smile, the usual small gesture that lifted his heavy features without revealing his teeth.

"She did?" Vincent merely nodded then, savoring the look of surprise and pleasure on his Father's dear face. "Incredible."

"Yes. It is over, Father. I know the truth now, and it can no longer hurt me."

Jacob Wells regarded his son curiously, taking in his unusual calmness, the open, unguarded expression on his precious face once again, and the absolute peace and serenity in those beautiful aqua eyes, and he again reached out across the table with a half gloved hand, this time to cup that unique face gently.

"Vincent .... What happened tonight, Vincent?"

"I am not entirely sure, Father. I have no words to explain it ...." Vincent's expression softened, taking on a dreamy quality. "She reached out to me ...."

"She? You mean Josephine?"

"Yes, Father. She reached out to me .... to offer me comfort ... love .... I was on the verge of losing control. _**It**_ was ready to take over, and then .... She touched me, and ...." Vincent's voice suddenly trailed away, and his father's expression was one of confusion and concern.

"And what, Vincent?" He coaxed gently.

"And ...." The younger man's voice was very low, and very soft, throbbing with emotion. "I .... I felt a .... jolt .... like electricity .... and then, suddenly .... it was as if she filled my whole body .... my very being .... mind .... body .... soul .... splintering it into a thousand tiny pieces, only to coalesce into a new being .... part me .... part Josephine ... filling all the dark places that even I have feared to visit .... driving _**it**_ away ...."

_**"It?"**_

"That part of me which has always threatened to take control. That part of me which is violent .... murderous .... beyond reason .... beyond control .... the .... beast ...."

Vincent drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and expelling it very slowly, allowed his soft, china blue gaze to settle on his father's anxious face.

"He is gone, Father."

"Gone?" Jacob Wells frowned deeply.

"Gone." Vincent assured. "I no longer feel his presence. Josephine has driven him away .... with her touch .... her love ...."

"Vincent, you're not making any sense ...." Father sighed softly.

"Perhaps there is no sense to be made of it Father. It just is so."

There was such certainty and conviction in Vincent's voice then.

"He is gone, and I am whole. There is no more fear. There is no more fear of losing control. The darkness within me .... his domain .... is illuminated .... and he is .... banished .... by her love ...."

"And Josephine?" Father asked softly.

"Yes .... Josephine .... I know that she felt it too, Father .... just for an instant ...."

"Felt what exactly, Vincent?"

"A connection."

"The same as you had with Catherine?"

"Something like that .... yes .... but deeper .... stronger .... _** more**_. I am sorry .... I have no adequate words, Father. Just believe that it is so ...."

Vincent smiled then, not the guarded, self conscious half smile which was so rare and precious to those who won it from him, but a broad smile that revealed his teeth, and illuminated his eyes, indicative of a new found confidence and self assuredness that Jacob Wells had never thought to witness in his son.

"Well, my boy, I am please to see that you are feeling .... good ...."

"I feel wonderful, Father ...." And Jacob Wells had to admit to himself that he looked it too, the relief and the joy clearly evident in those soulful eyes.

"Good."

Father settled the book back down on the table and sat back in his seat with a tired sigh.

Whatever had occurred this past night was obviously one of those strange, inexplicable experiences that were unique to Vincent, but, it was evident that whatever it was, it had only had a good effect on his son.

"Now .... tell me a little about your sister ...." Father invited softly.

"Another time, Father. I find that I am most weary. I think perhaps that I could sleep for a little while ...."

That too was unusual, but not unwelcome, and a blessing if it was true, Jacob Wells told himself. Too many years of fear and anguish and insomnia had taken their toll on his beloved son.

_**Could it be possible that he had indeed found peace at last**_?

"And I have much to think about ...."

"Will you be seeing Josephine again?"

"Yes." Vincent responded without hesitation. "Oh yes. Tonight and every other night, after I have visited with Catherine. She is my sister, and we have been separated for too long. We have much to learn about each other, Father, much to discover ...."

"Indeed."

"Thank you, Father .... for everything .... I love you ...."

"Sleep well, my boy ...."

"Goodnight, Father ...."

"Good morning, you mean. I was worried that you wouldn't make it back before dawn."

"But I did, Father ...."

"Only just ...." Father scolded lightly. "I hope that you are not going to grow careless again, Vincent. This is all very well, but the danger to you is still very real ...."

"I know that, Father, and I thank you for your concern. I promise that I will be careful."

"Good. That's all I ask. Be well, Vincent ...."

"You too, Father ...."

Jacob Wells watched as Vincent collected his cloak from the back of his chair, swung it gracefully around his broad shoulders, flicking his hair out from where it was trapped beneath the material of his hood, then picked up the journal from the table, before leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the top of Father's head. He then strode jauntily across the chamber toward the vestibule steps.

This was indeed a new side to his son, one that was going to take some getting used to, Jacob Wells decided on a hearty sigh.

Still ....

It did his old heart a power of good to see Vincent so relaxed. Serene. At peace.

After Vincent had made his exit, Mary walked slowly up to her husband's side and placed a bone china floral cup and saucer filled with steaming Earl Grey tea before him.

"How is he, Jacob?" She enquired softly.

"He is fine," her husband responded absently, his gaze still lingering on the vestibule where Vincent had just exited.

"Are we .... safe .... Jacob?"

This drew her husband's deep sapphire blue eyes, and he looked up into her concern filled face then, reaching out for her hand, to draw her down gently into his lap.

"I think so, my dear," he assured softly, tracing the outline of her dear cheek with his right index finger, and she lowered her eyes, coyly, for just a moment.

"He seems .... different somehow ...." She commented, her gaze drifting across the chamber to the vestibule steps.

"Yes, but for the better, I think, my dear. His oldest adversary, the enemy within, has been vanquished .... defeated by the love of a maiden fair ...." Jacob Wells smiled softly then.

"You soppy old romantic ...."

"Less of the _**old**_, If you please!" Jacob admonished softly. "The maiden in question was his sister, my dear ...." He added, reaching out then to gently capture her chin between his gnarled old fingers, guiding her face toward his own so that he could press his lips to hers softly.

"You are my fairest maiden ...." He cooed softly, as they slowly drew apart, Mary's face delicately flushed, her eyes blessing him for his tenderness and his love.

"And you are my knight in shining armor, Jacob ...."

"I can't help thinking that we wasted so much time, my love ...."

"Sh ...." She placed a small, delicate finger against his lips then. "We are together now, _**that**_ is all that matters."

Mary pulled her finger away from his lips then, and replaced them with her own in another soft, tender kiss, and they were both smiling and slightly breathless as they drew apart once more.

"So-o-o, my dearest one, it looks as though we have not lost a son, but gained another daughter ...."

"Yes, Jacob."

"And there is only one more thing that needs to be resolved," he sighed softly. "For Vincent .... all of us ...."

"Catherine ...."

"Yes. Catherine. Dear Catherine ...."

"It has gone on too long, Jacob. She is neither alive, nor dead, and poor Vincent, he can neither mourn her, nor love her as he needs to love her," Mary swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, upon thinking of the plight of the young woman whom she had come to care for deeply, and whose friendship had meant a great deal to her.

"I know," Jacob sighed softly again, reaching up to push away a stray tendril of her soft, beautiful hair from her pale cheek. "But what is there to be done? I cannot make him force him to put her out of his life. She is the child's mother, and Vincent still loves her. He will always love her, and I know how that feels."

He paused to look lovingly upon her dear face, holding her a little more tightly.

"I love you, Mary. I would never give up hope on you, if you were lying in a coma somewhere. I know that you would fight it, if you could. And, Vincent is not yet ready to give up hope. In his heart, Vincent knows that Catherine .... if there is a spark of life still in her .... will fight her way through this ...."

"But it has been so long, Jacob. Over five years now ...."

"Miracles have been known to happen, my love ...."

"Yes. In fairy tales ...."

"Their love was a miracle, Mary. Their love for each other was the greatest fairy tale of all, and it did not deserve such a tragic ending ...."

"Perhaps the gods are beginning to smile kindly on Vincent, and his Catherine, delivering to him a loving sister ...." Mary smiled softly then, lovingly caressing her husband's whiskered cheek. "That might only be the beginning of their bounties, my dear ...."

"Now who's the soppy old romantic ...."

"Hopeful, Jacob,_** hopeful romantic**_, and where there is life, there is hope."

"I hope you're right, Mary. I truly hope that you are right .... but ...."

"Jacob, when you love someone, as much as Vincent loves Catherine, as much as I love you, there are no buts, only dreams and hopes," Mary smiled serenely down into her husband's face. "We will continue to support Vincent, advise him, guide him and love him, share his hopes and dreams that one day Catherine will awaken and return to him ...."

"Yes. Of course. You are very wise my dear ...."

"Of course I am. I married you, and, I had a good teacher ...." She gently tweaked his nose affectionately then.

"I love you, my dearest Mary. What would my life be without you?"

"Fortunately, Jacob, we found each other and followed our hearts. If the fates are kind, you need never find out, and nor will I ...."

Mary leaned forward and pressed soft, cool lips to his rough whiskered cheek once more.

"Now drink your tea ...." She spoke in a soft voice as she drew away at last. "And come to bed ...."

"Madam, please! I am a respectable, married man ...." He feigned outrage, but there was amusement dancing in his lovely eyes.

"That's what you think. Married, yes .... respectable ...." Mary chuckled at the look on his beloved face, and cut off any response that he might have been prepared to make with another tender kiss, thus ensuring that on this occasion, at least.

He did not have the last word .

/a\

Instead of making his way directly to his own chamber, Vincent took a small detour to look in on his young son, Jacob.

On silent feet, Vincent crept into the boy's chamber, his intense blue eyes scanning the familiar room, almost as cluttered as his own, with keepsakes and treasures that the child had collected since moving in here a little over two months ago, on his fifth birthday.

Before that, Father and son had shared Vincent's chamber, but even since Jacob had been a toddler, curious about everything and eager to touch things, Vincent had known that such an arrangement was impractical, and temporary at best.

Still, it had taken until Jacob himself had declared that he was big enough for his own chamber now, for Vincent to actually do something about their living arrangements.

He had sought advise from Father and Mary, who had both agreed that young Jacob should have his own accommodation, close to his Father's chamber, of course, and they had set about renovating one of the ante chambers off the Long Gallery, a hundred yards or so away from Vincent's chamber, an old junk room for as long as Vincent could recall, where he and Devin had had many adventures together, sea battles serving under Lord Nelson, forging their way out West, leading a wagon train and fighting off Indians, swinging through the jungle on a vine, like Tarzan, Lord Greystoke.

A place that fortunately, only brought to mind happy memories of his childhood.

And a little sorrow that his brother could not be here to share in life's joys and trials with him.

Needless to say, young Jacob was thrilled with it.

The boy had soon made his mark on the new chamber, with his books and toys and treasures, although he had definitely inherited his father's natural dislike of picking up after himself.

_**A place for everything .... and everything in it's place ....**_ had been Father's motto during his childhood and adolescence.

Vincent could not suppress a smile of love from touching his lips, as he surveyed the room, as usual, it looked like it had been hit by a mini tornado, clothes strewn haphazardly on the ground, over the few sticks of furniture, a book lying on the ground where it had fallen when the child had finally succumbed to sleep, and curled up in a tight little ball in the tangle of sheets and blankets, on the bed, Jacob lay, sleeping soundly, hair falling over his forehead, soft cheeks delicately flushed as he uttered the occasional soft, little snore.

Unable to stop himself, Vincent allowed his gaze to travel from his sleeping child to the small, dark wood table beside the bed, and the small, heavy silver picture frame which contained the only picture that they had here Below, of the child's dear mother.

Catherine Chandler.

Diana Bennett had rescued it from Catherine's apartment, and had kept it safe in her own home, along with the other things of Catherine's that she had needed during the investigation, and had brought it to Vincent after the case into the attempted murder and abduction of Catherine Chandler had finally been closed.

Of the rest of Catherine's belongings, he had no idea what had become of them. Everything had been removed by the police, and there was a new family living in her apartment now, had been for almost four and a half years.

For Vincent, the picture had been far too painful for him to keep for himself, and so, he had put it away, bringing it out occasionally to show young Jacob, when he spoke to the boy of his mother.

And it had been the first thing that the boy had asked for, when he had moved into his new chamber.

As his eyes rested on the small black and white image of his beloved Catherine, Vincent felt the old familiar tightening of his chest, and the image blurred and swam violently out of focus as his eyes suddenly brimmed with tears.

The room suddenly began to spin, and from somewhere very far away, in a very soft, distant voice, so low and plaintive, Vincent could hear Catherine's so familiar voice calling out his name.

His knees buckled and he staggered forward, saving himself from crashing to the ground, only by reaching out to a nearby chair, and holding on to it for dear life.

_**"Help me, Vincent .... Where are you, Vincent?"**_

Her voice filled his mind .... so weak .... so fragile .... tearing at his heart ....

_**"Help me ...."**_ She pleaded .... _**"Help me ...."**_

"I tried ...." Vincent whimpered thickly, unsure if he had really uttered the words, or if they were only echoing around his mind.

_**"I need you, Vincent .... Help me .... Help me ...."**_

"I cannot, Catherine. Only you can do this. You must fight this!" He begged raggedly. "I love you, Catherine. I love you. Please come back to me. Please. Come back ...."

"Dad?" Young Jacob's concerned sleepy little voice brought Vincent back to reality sharply. His heart was pounding in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears, but he could no longer hear her voice in his mind.

As he came slowly back to his senses, Vincent found that he had a white knuckled grip on the small gate legged chair placed at the small writing desk which Jacob used to study and read.

And the sleepy eyed child had scrambled out of bed, at the sound of his clumsy stumbling, trailing bedcovers and blankets half way across the room, and was standing with one of his father's big, fur covered hands in his own, a worried expression on his dear young face.

"Dad?" He repeated in a frightened little voice.

"I am all right, Jacob," Vincent assured, dragging in a lungful of air. "I did not mean to wake you."

When the child continued to regard him with big, expressive blue eyes, Vincent added.

"I am just tired .... and I tripped ...."

Young Jacob followed his father's gaze to the floor, where a broken, rusted fire engine lay overturned on its side.

Vincent frowned. He was sure that it had not been there before, it must have fallen off the desk.

But, he was very relieved to have the battered old toy as an excuse for his clumsiness.

A swift glance at the child told him that Jacob too was not sure if the toy had been left lying on the ground, after he had played with it earlier in the evening.

"Sorry, Dad ...."

"It is all right," Vincent let out a deep sigh. "I just wanted to look in on you before I went to bed," he reached out with trembling fingers to ruffle his son's already sleep tousled hair affectionately.

"Dad? Are you all right? Really?"

"Why do you ask?"

"It's just that .... you had that same look on your face .... like that night .... in the Great Hall .... just before Christmas ...."

Vincent swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, and looked down at his son.

"I am all right," he assured. "And you must not worry about me, Jacob. It is just that it has been a very strange night, which I will l tell you all about when I have slept a little ...."

"Did you see her? My Aunt?" Jacob clarified when his father's heavy brow creased in to a frown.

"Yes," Vincent sighed in relief. "Yes. I saw her. She is ...."

"Nice?"

"Yes. She is very nice," Vincent smiled softly then.

"I dreamed about her," Jacob confessed, taking his father's offered hand as they walked back toward the bed, picking up a blanket and sheet that were knotted together and lying on the ground where they had fallen.

"I saw you, Dad .... and this woman. You were talking .... you were .... angry .... upset, and then it was like she was an angel. There was this beautiful light, all around you, and you didn't feel angry any more ...."

_**Dear God, the Bond!.**_

He had forgotten about the Bond with Jacob.

__The child must have felt it too.

Whatever _**it**_ was.

"Jacob ...."

"It's okay, Dad. I know. _**He's**_ gone ...."

Vincent's jaw worked up and down as he tried to find words, but none would come, so he simply folded the child close to his chest instead, gently stroking his soft honey gold hair.

"I had a dream about Mom, too," Jacob confessed softly, burying his nose in his father's beautiful, silky hair.

"You did?" Vincent said thickly.

_**Had the child experienced the same strange illusion of his mother calling out to his father, in his dreams too?**_

"Yeah. She looked beautiful, and she was smiling. She told me that she was coming home soon. Real soon ...."

Vincent closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, wishing that his own dreams of Catherine were so comforting.

_**Is that what it was?**_

_**A waking dream?**_

_**Could it be a residue of what had happened between himself and Josephine tonight?**_

_**But, it had seemed so real.**_

_**So real.**_

"Is she coming home, Dad?" Really?" The child asked sheepishly.

"I do not know, Jacob, but, I hope so. Oh how I hope so ...."

"Me too Dad. Me too."


	3. Chapter 3

_**CHAPTER THREE.**_

_**SATURDAY 31ST DECEMBER, 1994.**_

Josephine Grayson slept late that morning, coming to full wakefulness slowly, stretching languidly and catlike in the centre of her big bed, taking in deep breaths and expelling them slowly, before finally opening her eyes on to a wonderful new world, where she knew her brother.

Her brother, Joes ....

No.

_**Vincent ....**_

Her brother, Vincent.

Her heart lighter than it had been in what seemed like an entire lifetime, Josephine showered, and then dressed slowly, taking more trouble than usual with her appearance, humming a gay little tune as she pulled a brush through her unruly hair, and secured it in an intricate French braid, before applying a light dusting of translucent powder to her cheeks.

She had no need of blusher this morning, for her cheeks had a naturally healthy, rosy glow to them, but she applied just a little hint of gold and brown shadow to her eyelids, a pastel shade of rose lipstick and gloss to her lips, and ran the mascara brush lightly through her lashes, to make them fuller, thicker.

She had things to do and people to see, this New Year's Eve, and tomorrow would begin a new year that held so much promise.

Her brother was alive.

And he meant to have some part in her life.

And of course, there was her new job with the F.B.I.

Josephine greeted Mrs Ludlow cheerfully as she scampered down the stairs on a jaunty stride, and crossing the black and white marble tiled hallway, scooped up the mail from an ornate silver tray, on the table beside the telephone.

She flicked through the small pile of envelopes absently, discarding bills and junk mail, dropping them back on the silver tray, then carried the remainder, an airmail letter, from a friend in England, and an official looking document with the F.B.I. seal on the long white envelope, into the dining room.

Mrs Ludlow had laid out breakfast as usual, despite the fact that since her return, the doctor had taken little more than coffee and perhaps a half a slice of toast, on a good morning.

Josephine settled herself in her usual spot, back to the window, and poured out coffee, which was good and hot, aromatic and not too strong.

With a huge grin on her face, Josephine helped herself to crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, nicely browned sausages and plump, lightly grilled tomatoes, and still grinning, she tucked in, eating more heartily than she had in months, finishing off with a slice of toast covered in a thick, dark, sticky layer of orange marmalade, and another cup of coffee, sitting back from the table at last, with a hearty sigh of contentment, as she opened the official looking letter of appointment from the F.B.I. giving details of where and when she should report for duty on January 2.

Esther Ludlow was surprised to find the china serving dishes on the breakfast table half empty, and noted the change in her employer's demeanor immediately, as she set about clearing away the dishes.

She returned to the kitchen with hands full of crockery, with a deep sigh, which elicited a strange look from her husband, Alfred, who was standing at the sink, tightening a loose washer on the cold water faucet.

"I don't know what's going on around here, Al, but she is up and down like a yo-yo," Esther mumbled, gently setting down the delicate china serving dishes. "One minute she's down in the doldrums, the next she's as high as a kite. You don't think she's on .... drugs ...."

"Don't be so ridiculous old woman!" Alfred said sharply, pinning his wife with hard grey eyes. "Sometimes you're far to fanciful for your own good," he warned. "Take last night for instance ...." He glowered, still grumpy at having had his precious sleep so rudely disturbed.

"I tell you, I _**heard**_ it ...." Esther snapped back, never at her best when she had slept poorly, her temper was the first thing to suffer.

"And I say you dreamed it."

"Did not."

"Did too. I mean, for the love of Mike, who around here would be fool enough to keep a pet lion!" He challenged.

"I know what I heard, Alfred Ludlow, and nothing you say will make me change my mind. Now move your body so that I can get these dishes washed ...."

"I'm not through with this faucet yet ...." He grumbled.

"Well hurry up."

"Esther," Alfred let out a deep sigh. "Look love, Dr Grayson is a young woman, and as I recall, you were fairly moody yourself, when you were a girl," he smiled coyly at his wife now, a familiar twinkle in his grey eyes. "But I fell in love with you, despite that. Small and feisty .... that's my Esther ....C'mere and give me a big kiss ...." He invited softly, wiggling his big, bushy eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh .... get away with you, you lecherous old fool ...." But Esther could not suppress a soft smile from forming on her lips.

"Oh, so it's lecherous you want? Well .... I'll show you lecherous old girl ...." He leered, moving swiftly despite his advanced years to capture his wife in gentle arms, pressing soft lips to her plump, flushed cheek.

When he drew away at last, Alfred could see that his wife was still troubled by their employer's unpredictable mood swings.

"Don't worry your pretty head so much, Esther." He caressed her soft cheek gently with a slightly bent old finger. "She's been through a rough time. It stands to reason that she'll be having good days and bad days for a while." He reasoned softly.

"I still can't figure it."

"And I can't figure you, Esther," Alfred sighed heavily. "You complain when she's miserable, and now you're complaining when she's cheerful," he pointed out sagely.

"I'm not complaining Al. I'm just worried about her."

"And there was I thinking that you didn't care about her one way or the other," This drew a sharp look from his wife, and he could see that his words had hurt her.

"I'm sorry love. Of course you care. You care _**too**_ much sometimes ...."

"It's not natural Alfred. She changes moods like the weather ...."

"Of course she does. She's a woman! And it's very female. A woman's prerogative ...." He grinned wolfishly.

"And what would you know about that, Alfred Ludlow!" Her tone was scornful, but once again, she could not prevent a smile from touching her lips.

He was a rogue, and a scoundrel, this man she had married close to forty years ago.

He had swept her off her feet, and she was still waiting to touch down.

But ....

He loved her.

And she loved him.

And she wouldn't swap him for all the tea in Chinatown.

"I've loved you for the best part of forty years, old gal. If that doesn't qualify .... how much more experience would a man need?"

He lowered his voice, and leaned forward to press his lips to hers once more.

"Worry that pretty head about something really important, like the price of gasoline, or breaking that valuable crockery over there, or if that lay about son of ours will ever get married and give us grandchildren ...."

"He's not a lay about, Alfred ...." Esther defended quickly, as her husband had known that she would.

"But he _**is**_ our concern, Esther," he sighed softly. "This charming, beautiful, contrary young woman is _**not**_," he reminded sagely. "She is not our daughter, love, and I don't think that she would thank you for trying to mother her. The time for such things is long gone for her, and she's done okay for herself this long ...." He added gently.

"I know you're right, love, but I can't help myself. There's just something about her. Something that draws you to her ...."

"Admiration of one's employer is no bad thing, Esther, but, that is all that she is to us. Our employer ...."

Esther Ludlow nodded in agreement and reached out to caress her husband's slightly rough cheek.

She knew that he was right. There should be no room for sentiment between employees and employer, but she could not help herself. She both liked and admired the doctor, and she could not help hoping that the new year would bring their employer a little peace.

They could all do with a little of that after the uncertainty and unhappiness of the past few months.

In the dining room, unaware of the concerns of her housekeeper, and the debate going on between husband and wife in the kitchen, Josephine Grayson nibbled on her toast and sipped her coffee as she scrutinized the front page of the morning newspaper.

It reminded her of that first morning that her reward notice had appeared, and also helped to remind her of the unsavory task ahead of her, in closing down the hotline office, and laying off Maureen and Olivia.

Her mind drifted as she pondered on what to tell those two dear ladies, obviously she could not tell them the truth, that she had indeed found her brother, for they would surely have questions that she could not answer, maybe even want to meet with him, which of course was impossible.

In the end, Josephine decided that the only thing that she could tell them was that she had been unsuccessful, and that the elderly caller had been able to offer her no real hope of finding her brother alive.

She hated the idea of lying to them, for they had both been supportive and understanding, but, in the long run, it would be less complicated.

Josephine took her time in finishing her breakfast, before setting aside the newspaper, and heading for the drawing room, where she sat at the Mahogany writing desk and wrote out two large checks and penned a few words in return to her friend from England, one of the other doctors from the surgery that she had worked in before going back to university, and joining the Home Office's list of pathologists.

Her letter finished, Josephine returned to her room and slipped into her coat, scarf and gloves, but instead of returning directly downstairs, her feet carried her swiftly upwards, to the attic, where she stood in silent contemplation, staring at the books scattered on the floor before the old footstool, and the now burned out hurricane lanterns, making a mental note to ask Mr Ludlow to refill them before her brother's next nocturnal visit, and remembering how Vincent had looked, sitting there, shrouded with shadows, those big, inhuman hands flicking over page after page.

And her feet drew her back to the spot where _**it**_ had happened.

Where, just for an instant, they had occupied the same time and space, physically, mentally, emotionally, when she had felt their hearts beat as one, and she had known what it felt like to be him, to know his thoughts, his feelings, and to know just as surely that he felt hers too.

It had lasted no longer than a few ragged heart beats.

But ....

It had seemed like an eternity ....

And Josephine knew that it had changed her life. Forever.

And just as surely, she knew that it had changed him, Vincent, too.

She had felt the power of her love and acceptance of him surging through him.

Had seen the light of her love flooding all the dark places within him.

She had sensed his shock.

Relief.

Love.

His shared sense of homecoming.

And she had known that it would be all right.

Everything would be all right.

For both of them.

Even now, it was hard to believe that he had really been here.

But ....

It was true.

And strange as it seemed .... She could still feel him.

Could feel his life force.

Knew that he lived.

Knew that he was well.

And that was all that she needed for the time being.

It was strange.

So very new.

But she would learn more about this connection with her brother as time went by, Josephine was sure.

Maybe it would only ever be at its strongest when they were physically close.

Or maybe, in the fullness of time, she would feel the connection equally as strongly if they were together, or not.

Time would tell.

Yes, it was strange.

But it was wonderful too.

Josephine smiled softly to herself.

The moment that she had feared might never come, suddenly seemed so very far away now.

Gone, yes, but never to be forgotten.

By either of them.

Something wondrous, miraculous, had passed between them.

And neither of them would ever be the same again.

_**And that had just been the beginning ....**_ Josephine told herself with a soft smile.

Yes. Just the beginning.

With a promise to herself that she would return later, to restore order and make a little more room for them to sit more comfortably to talk, when next he came, as she knew that he would, Josephine turned on her heel, pulled the attic door closed behind her and locked the door once more, slipping the key back on the hook beside the door, as she made her way back down the stairs.

/a\

Jennifer Louise Mary Maxwell strode purposefully down the hospital corridor, greeting various members of the floor's staff by name such a regular visitor was she to the room of Catherine Chandler.

She breezed into her friend's room, dropping various packages and plastic shopping bags bearing the legends of various department stores which Catherine would have recognized immediately, on the chair beside the bed, and leaned over to press a soft kiss to Catherine Chandler's cool, pale cheek.

"Hi, hon, it's Jen. How ya doing?" she spoke breathlessly. "Hell, it's a zoo out there, kid!" She grinned, removing the packages from the chair, so that she could sit down. "Did Vincent drop by last night?" She enquired absently, expecting no answer from the occupant of the bed. "Joe and I had a party to go to. Yet another. Makes about a hundred and one this week!" She sighed expressively. "Okay, ten. No wonder my poor head is spinning!"

Jenny pulled off her scarf, slipped out of her coat and sat still for a moment to catch her breath, before reaching out to take Catherine's hand in her own.

It had always amazed and fascinated Joe Maxwell that his wife was able to carry on this perfectly normal conversation with Catherine, one sided though it was. Cheerful chatter about every day life, and had often wished, he had once confessed to her, after their marriage, that he had had the same knack, for his own conversations with Catherine were stilted, self conscious, usually work orientated, and filled with long, awkward pauses.

Jenny made it look so easy, made it all seem so natural to be telling her best friend all about their kids, there all too brief vacations, her shopping sprees.

It was like listening to one side of a very long telephone conversation, except that he didn't have the added pain of paying the bill at the end of the call.

And he envied Jenny her belief that this was working, and that one day, Catherine would open her eyes, smile, and tell them to go away and leave her to get some sleep in peace for a change.

"The kids must think that their mother has gone crazy!" Jenny chuckled, gently massaging Catherine's palm with her thumb, then squeezing her hand gently. "Like I said, it's a circus. okay I know I said zoo, but let's not split hairs, huh? So many parties, last night was the Law Society, tonight it's the Mayor, at City Hall no less. I'll be glad when midnight comes and Joe and I can go home and just watch the kids sleeping. I seem to have seen so little of them since Christmas. Fortunately Vincent is such a good baby. Sleep! I've never seen a baby sleep so much, and boy can he guzzle down that formula. Joe calls him guzzle guts. He's got the cutest pot belly, and dimples when he smiles. Oh I know, its not a proper smile, only gas .... but they're so cute. Oh Cathy ...."

She paused momentarily to gaze down at her friend's familiar face.

"I wish you could see him, all of them. The girls too. I just know you'd love them ...." Tear suddenly welled up in Jenny's big dark eyes, and she lowered her head briefly, to try to regain some control over her emotions.

"Look at me, going all mushy on you. Did you ever think that that would happen, Cathy?"

She continued to regard her friend with a soft expression, sniffing and blinking away the threatened tears.

"Hey, kid, wanna see what I bought?"

She released Catherine's pale, finely veined hand and rose from her chair, scooping up the bags and dropping them casually on the bed beside Catherine Chandler's exposed feet.

"I've worn practically every dress I own this past week, so I thought that I would treat myself to a nice new little number. Something slinky and sexy. You know what I mean ...." She purred alluringly, then grinned at her silly antics. "You were always damned good at slinky and sexy, kid," she chuckled softly.

"I told myself it would be good to get out and shop until I dropped, only I must be getting old, hon, because I practically dropped dead from exhaustion before I was half way around Bloomingdales! So-o-o, get ready for this ...."

Jenny reached into the first bag and brought out an exquisite gown of black velvet that had a hem line above the thigh, and a neckline that was definitely plunging, and was rouched into delicate pleats in between. She held the expensive garment up to her body, wiggling her hips seductively as she showed it off to Catherine, immediately hearing in her mind Cathy's quick quip.

_**"My God Jen! That's not a dress .... it's a hair band!"**_

__"I know it's a little daring ...." She mused aloud. "But what they hey! I've just spent the best part of the last three months in huge shapeless sacks. I've got my figure back after the baby, so why shouldn't I show it off? And I got these too ...."

She dropped the gown carefully down on to the bed and reached into another bag, producing black lace lingerie.

"If it's cold out tonight, I'll probably catch my death of pneumonia, but it'll be worth it to see the look on Joe's face."

Jenny colored becomingly, and just at that moment, a nurse pushed open the door, carrying fresh bags of saline and nutrients. She smiled broadly at Jenny Maxwell, who was still dangling the fine black lace bra and panties set in front of her body.

"Hi Jenny. You ladies having fun?"

"Hi Maggie," Jenny greeted the Senior Nurse of this floor, as a friend.

"You'll knock 'em dead in that rig!" Maggie Connors chuckled as she eased her way past Jenny and unhooked the almost empty bags from the I.V. stand and deftly replaced them with the new ones.

That task done, she checked the readouts on the monitors, and Jenny watched as a frown suddenly knitted her brow.

"Something wrong, Maggie?" The anxiety in Jenny's voice was unmistakable, and it drew the middle aged nurse's gaze swiftly.

"Nah. Just tell me the two of you didn't just jog around Central Park? I thought that get up was to raise your husband's blood pressure ...." She winked suggestively. "Not sleeping beauty's here ...."

"Her blood pressure's up?" Jenny said in wide eyed amazement.

"Settle down honey. It's probably just the machine acting up again ...."

Maggie Connors hit the reset button and sure enough, the lights winked out for a few seconds, then reappeared and flashed steadily as they had always done throughout the last five years and three months.

"Sorry, love," She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally, then reached out to gently pat Catherine Chandler's hand. "Take it easy Cathy. I think your friend has had just about all the excitement that she can handle for one week."

Maggie Connors looked back at Jenny then, still grinning.

"Good thing you're not still pregnant Jenny, or you'd have just shocked yourself into labor!" She chuckled, sashaying around the end of the bed to lean close to Jenny's ear, whispering in a low, seductive voice.

"If you plan on wearing that get up tonight, love, I'll book a room in maternity for you sometime at the end of September or the beginning of October!"

Both women spluttered with laughter, and the Senior nurse made her way to the door, still grinning broadly.

"You two be good now. I don't want to have to come back here to tell you to keep the noise down ...." And with that, she pushed the door open, and disappeared out into the pristine, sterile corridor beyond, leaving Jenny Maxwell both cursing her and blessing her for her very wicked sense of humor.

If it hadn't been for Maggie during those dark days at the beginning, Jenny knew that she would have lost her tenuous hold on her emotions long ago. Maggie always seemed to know when levity was needed to relieve the tension, and Jenny was always grateful to her for her sense of fun.

"Hey, Chandler, you'd better hurry up and get well! See what I have to put up with while you lie there taking things easy?" Jenny teased lightly, returning the sexy black under ware to the bag on the bed.

"Oh God, Cathy .... I miss you so much. If you can hear me honey, fight this. Fight your way back .... to the people who love you .... and miss you ...."

Jenny reached out and took Catherine's hand between her own.

"We want you back, love. All of us ...." Her eyes misted over with tears once more, and she blinked them away quickly.

"Okay ...." She let out a deep, shuddering sigh, and let go of Catherine's hand. "Wanna see what else I got?" She asked, reaching out for another bag and withdrawing a beautiful pale blue baby grow with a **SNOOPY** transfer on the chest. "I know, smart ass, it doesn't suit me ...." Jenny chuckled softly then. "And I doubt it will do much for Joe either, but on my Vincent, it'll look terrific, and you'll never guess what I got for my girls ...."

Jenny prattled on for another half an hour or so, showing her friend the New Year's gifts that she had brought for her family, the new dresses and shoes that she had gotten for the twins, new teddy bears for all three of her offspring, and the beautiful, simple gold cuff links that she had brought for Joe.

And then, at last, when she had stowed away all her belongings in their bags, Jenny took Catherine's hand in her own once more, and leaned close to press her lips to her friend's cool forehead.

"Gotta go now, love, promised Nanny Johnson that I'd be back no later than four. Got a hungry boy to feed. Be good. Joe and I will see you tomorrow. Happy New Year, Cathy. God bless ...."

Jenny released Catherine's hand and laid it back down gently on the top of the bed, and then she picked up her coat, scarf and gloves, along with her other packages, and left the sterile little room that was her dearest friend's home.

Never noticing the intermittent blinking of a small red light on one of the monitors on the other side of the bed.

/a\

From somewhere in the thick, suffocating darkness, a voice, distant, yet familiar, penetrated the void.

It was her own voice ....

Yes.

_**Vincent .... **_

_**Help me, Vincent ....**_

_**Where are you, Vincent?**_

Was that thin, plaintive sound coming from her?

No wonder no-one could hear her.

_**Help me .... help me ....**_

_**I need you, Vincent ....**_

_**Help me ....**_

_**Help me....**_

"I tried ...." The voice that replied was also small and distant .... but she recognized it straight away .... and suddenly, there before her, swimming in and out of focus, was an image of his wonderful, dear, precious, familiar face ....

_**Vincent ....**_

_**I need you, Vincent ....**_

_**Help me ....**_

"I cannot ...." His tone was full of pain, his beautiful eyes filled with anguish. "Only you can do this. You must fight this .... I love you, Catherine ...."

_**I love you too, Vincent ....**_

She yelled, but no sound came from her lips, and the black, oppressiveness was pushing in on her again, draining her, suffocating her ....

"I love you, Catherine ...." These were words that she had only ever heard from his lips once before ....

So long ago now ....

Or so it seemed ....

She had no sense of the passage of time here .....

Wherever _**here**_ was ....

That he was saying those wonderful words now, only made her want to run to him more.

"Please come back to me .... please .... come back ...."

His beautiful velvet voice faded away, and the image of his beloved face also faded, dissolving back into the black morasses that weighed her down and drowned out her pleas for help.

_**Where was she?**_

_**Why couldn't she break free?**_

_**Why did her body feel so heavy .... so alien ....**_

_**Why couldn't she see anything except this interminable darkness, and the odd flash of light .... faces from her past .... faces of the people that she had loved ....**_

_**Why did no-one come to help her?**_

_**Where were those people that she loved, now that she needed their help?**_

_**Was this then, what it felt like to be .... dead?**_

__She had no awareness of the passing of time, locked in the endless void, but suddenly, she was again aware of a voice, soft and familiar, so very far away still, but, perhaps a little closer than Vincent's voice had been.

A familiar face swam into focus before her.

She recognized it immediately.

_**Jenny ....**_

Jen ....

"Oh God, Cathy .... I miss you so much ...." She was saying__with so much emotion in her beautifully modulated voice. "If you can hear me, honey__.... fight this .... fight your way back .... to the people who love you .... and miss you ...."

_**I am .... I am ....**_

She screamed silently.

"We want you back, love .... all of us ...."

_**I am here Jen .... I am here ....**_

Just as swiftly as it had appeared, Jenny's face faded back into the blackness and she was alone once more.

_**Why was everyone telling her to fight ....**_

_**Begging her to come back?**_

_**Didn't they know how long she had been fighting, how she had struggled, to reach out to just one of them, to make them understand.**_

_**The child knew the truth of it ....**_

_**Her precious child ....**_

_**She had called out to him, told him that she would be coming home soon.**_

_**And he had believed her ....**_

_**Now .... **_

_**She had to believe it too ....**_

_**But she was so tired ....**_

_**So tired ....**_

_**She did not know how long she could go on ....**_

Sometimes, this huge bright, white light would open up before her, beckoning her toward it, and she would hear soft voices encouraging her to take a step toward the light.

Sometimes, she imagined that one of those voices belonged to her mother, or Eliott Burch, and she would try to go to them.

But she could not move ....

Weighted down .... anchored in this thick, sticky mire ....

And then the voices would tell her not to struggle, not to fight, that if she struggled and fought, she would never get to them.

Then the light would disappear for a while.

_**Am I going mad?**_

_**If this is not death ....**_

_**Then perhaps it is insanity ....**_

_**So tired ....**_

_**So very tired ....**_

_**"Then rest little one ...." **_This from another familiar voice now.

_**"Daddy?"**_

_**"Yes Cathy ...."**_

_**"But .... you're ....."**_

_**"Dead? Yes, little one ...."**_

_**"Am I ...."**_

_**"Dead? No ...."**_

_**"Where am I?"**_

_**"In between."**_

_**"In between?"**_ Her tone held confusion, except that again, no sound actually came from her lips.

_**"Yes Cathy. You are in a place where you must make a choice ...."**_

_**"A choice?"**_

_**"Yes. A choice between living or dying ...."**_

_**"Why must I choose?"**_

_**"Because you have reached a cross-roads, little one. Ahead of you are two paths, neither is right, or wrong, for you. Each holds your destiny, and only you can choose which path to take, little one ...."**_

_**"Why am I here? What happened to me ...."**_

_**"An evil man tried to murder you ...."**_

_**"Yes. I remember now.. Vincent ...."**_

_**"Yes, Vincent. He loved you, and his love saved you. But you had gone too far down the path to this dark place, this limbo. Only you can decide where your future lies."**_

_**"Daddy ...."**_

_**"I am still here ...."**_

_**"Tell me .... what happened ...."**_

_**"You were given an overdose of morphine, after you had given birth to the child, and you fell into a coma. Vincent brought you home. He thought that you were dead, that you had died in his arms, but when the ambulance people came, they discovered that you had a very weak pulse. You have been in a coma ever since ...."**_

_**"How long?."**_

_**"Five years ...."**_

_**"Five years!."**_

_**"I know little one, but it is true ...."**_

_**"And Vincent never gave up on me?"**_

_**"No. He never gave up hope."**_

_**"Daddy, I know where my future lies .... where it always lay. With Vincent .... and our .... son ...."**_

_**"Jacob."**_

_**"Jacob?"**_

_**"Yes. Vincent named him after the man he thinks of as his father ...."**_

_**"Jacob Wells ...."**_

_**"Yes."**_

_**"Dad? Why can't I leave here? Why can't I move?"**_

_**"You have to really want to, Catherine. You have to really want it ...."**_

_**"But I do ...."**_

_**"Then move away from the light, little one, for beyond the light is the place of the souls and from that place, there is no going back. From there, we can only go forward."**_

_**"Then how come you are here?"**_

_**"I was appointed your guardian, little one, because my time in the other place had been so short.. They let me watch over you. Just like I always did ...."**_

_**"Will you help me, Daddy?"**_

_**"I cannot. This, you have to do on your own, little one. This is your destiny .... your struggle .... This, as with all things that are worth having, is something that you have to fight for, but, you have to want it badly enough, Cathy. Fight for it. Everything that you have ever wanted is right there, within your reach. Fight for what is rightfully yours, little one. The happy life that you dreamed of, with your Vincent and, if you succeed, it will be a very long time before we see each other again ...."**_

_**"Daddy, I love you ...."**_

_**"I know, little one. Remember, I am always with you, and Catherine .... Remember love .... Love is the only thing that really matters ...."**_

Her father's dear voice was growing weaker and distant now.

_**"Daddy? Daddy ...."**_

_**"Search for the love, Catherine .... the love that flows from Vincent .... from your son .... your friends .... ebbing and flowing .... Search for their love and allow its warmth and light to show you the way back .... and live that happy life, my beautiful daughter ...."**_

_**"Daddy ...."**_

_**"Remember love, Catherine, and follow it home ...."**_

_**"I will Daddy .... I will ...."**_


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR.**

_**SATURDAY 31ST DECEMBER, 1994**_.

Josephine Grayson returned to her home early in the afternoon, after having spent the morning with the dear ladies from the hotline office.

They had been naturally very curious about her meeting in the park with the elderly caller, and Josephine explained that she had gone to the meeting, only to discover that the man confirmed information received from a previous caller, that Anna Pater, and the child she had taken under wing were both dead.

The dear ladies had been very sympathetic, and offered their genuine regrets, but had soon brightened up when Josephine had handed over their paychecks, with a substantial bonus for each of them, as a gesture of her gratitude for their patience.

She had then treated the ladies to a light lunch, and they had toasted each other with glasses of sparkling mineral water and wished each other a Happy New Year!

As she entered the hallway from the street door, a little breathless from running down the block to avoid a shower of rain, and up the steps of the stoop, the antique brass carriage clock stuck twice on the hour, and she crossed the hallway, shrugging out of her coat and removing her scarf and gloves, making directly for the drawing room, with it's roaring log fire dancing vigorously in the hearth.

As she pushed the door open, she was surprised to find Patrick O'Shea leaning against the mantelpiece, enjoying the fire, as he stared absently into space, but hearing the soft creak of the door opening, he looked up sharply.

"Hello Patrick," Josephine smiled affectionately, crossing the room with her hand extended toward him in greeting.

The elderly man took her hand, squeezing it gently as he leaned forward to press cool, dry lips to her soft powdered cheek.

"Josie. You look well," Patrick remarked as he slowly pulled away from her. "In fact, I would go so far as to say that you look terrific," he beamed affectionately at her.

"I feel terrific," Josephine replied, returning his smile. "Can I offer you a drink? Sherry? Whiskey? Brandy?"

"No. No thank you, my dear."

"How about coffee, then? Some tea, perhaps?"

"No. Really. I can't stay too long. I just thought I'd stop by and see how you are doing, and to wish you a Happy New Year, of course."

"The same to you, Patrick, and your family. As you can see, I am doing just fine."

Yes, he could see.

She looked wonderful.

Her color was much better than the last time he had seen her, and there was a spark of life back in those incredibly beautiful and unusual green/gold eyes.

"Josie .... has .... has something happened?" There was a hint of suspicion in his tone now.

"Happened?" She frowned.

"With regard to .... your .... brother?"

"No Patrick. I told you that I would let you know if I heard anything."

"And have you?" He probed.

"All that I have heard is that both he and the woman that mother entrusted him to .... are dead ...." Her voice trailed away as she drew away from him, going to sit down in the chair at the Mahogany writing bureau.

"Oh Josie ...." Patrick let out a deep sigh. "I am so sorry."

"So am I," With her hands folded in her lap, Josephine crossed her fingers and asked which ever deity might happen to be listening, to forgive her such a blatant lie.

_**I'm only trying to protect him.**_

"But, not altogether surprised ...." He admitted. "So-o-o .... you're giving up the search?"

"There seems little point in continuing," Josephine sighed softly, lowering her gaze lest he see her guilt in her eyes.

"Then should I go ahead and process Andrea's will?" He asked, and the question stunned Josephine for just a moment.

"Yes .... Yes Patrick. Please. That would be a good idea. And, in the meantime, if my brother should make himself known to me, I will let you know ...."

She had not had time to tell Vincent about the provisions that Andrea Reeve had made for him in her will, but, for obvious reasons, he would never be able to make a legal claim to that inheritance.

It would be better to allow Patrick O'Shea to see to the details of the will, and then she would see to it that Vincent got what was rightfully his.

If he would accept it.

"Fine. I'll see to it in the New Year."

"Thank you, Patrick," Josephine smiled her gratitude, and rose once more from the chair. "Happy New Year, Patrick."

"Happy New Year, my dear. Please God .... and good luck with the new job."

"Thanks," She offered her cheek for him to kiss once more, and accompanied him out into the hallway, where he took down his coat and hat from the old fashioned dark wood coat stand in the corner.

"Take care of yourself, my dear ...."

"You too, Patrick," Josephine reached up and kissed his soft old cheek, then watched as he walked toward the street door.

"I will be in touch soon, my dear," he waved from the doorway, then carefully made his way down the stoop to the street.

Josephine returned to the drawing room, sitting at the Mahogany writing desk with a deep sigh.

She had hated lying to Patrick about her brother, it went against everything that she believed in, but she could see no other option.

How could a man who did not legally exist, claim an inheritance from a mother he had never known?

She had not really lied.

For all intents and purposes, Vincent had never been born. His birth had never been registered, legally recorded.

Of course, the money, the estate, none of that mattered. She was a wealthy woman in her own right, with her salary and what she had inherited from Jeff and her Aunt Julia.

The only thing that mattered was that she had promised her mother that she would make certain that he got what he was entitled to.

And she had always kept her promises.

/a\

As he slowly made his way down the street to where his car was waiting at the curb for him, his uniformed chauffeur already getting out of the car to open the rear door for him, Patrick O'Shea had to admit to himself that young Josephine had looked much better.

She had seemed so much, stronger.

Perhaps she had put her mother's traumatic illness and subsequent death behind her .... moved on.

And he was secretly pleased that she had given up on the other business with her .... brother ....

It occurred to him that on the eve of this new year, Josephine had decided to put the past, and all it's associated pains behind her, and throw herself into her work, this new job with the F.B.I.

He fervently hoped that 1995 would bring to Josephine Grayson the peace that she deserved.

Perhaps Josephine's story would have a happy ending after all.

Patrick O'Shea sincerely hoped so.

As he slipped carefully into the back of the car and gathered his coat about him, Roberts, the chauffeur wasting no time in closing the door firmly behind him, Patrick began to smile softly.

Josephine was a beautiful young woman, and it was not beyond the realms of possibility that she had found a new love, a nice young man with whom she could settle down, perhaps raise another family with.

That would be wonderful.

Truly wonderful.

And perhaps it was not so far from the truth, he mused silently as the car gracefully pulled away from the sidewalk.

For something had certainly put that beautiful smile back on her face.

And what a joy it had been to see it there .... radiant ....

And that glorious twinkle was back in those unusual eyes.

And Patrick O'Shea could not have been more pleased for her.

If any one deserved to find love and happiness, it was Andrea Reeve's loyal and loving daughter, Josephine Grayson.

/a\

Josephine spent the rest of the day quietly, spending some time going through the F.B.I. handbook, refreshing her memory on certain requirements and procedures, then going through her meager wardrobe, trying to decide on what to wear for her first day in a new job.

Most of her good clothes, including her business suits, were still in England. and as she stared at the small row of skirts and blouses, and the neat pile of sweaters and cardigans, Josephine suddenly realized that now she would never be going back there.

Everything that was dear to her was here, in New York City.

And so was her future.

It was painful to think that she would probably never be going back there, to the place that she had thought of as her real home all those years.

Never be going back to Jeff and Amy.

But, they weren't there anymore.

They were with her, wherever she went, for she carried her memories of both of them in her mind, and her continuing love for them both in her heart.

In that sense, they would never truly be lost to her.

So ....

It seemed that it really was time to move on.

And she was ready for it now.

By the time she sat down to dinner, and there was still no word from Vincent, Josephine began to wonder if she really would see him again.

The meal of minestrone soup, roast chicken and vegetables, and a light chocolate mousse for desert was delicious, but Josephine did not do it proper justice, although she did eat far more than she usually would have, and Mrs Ludlow removed the dirty dishes wearing a smile of satisfaction.

As she sat before the gently crackling log fire in the drawing room, nursing a very small brandy, mindful of her lack of tolerance for alcohol, in a very large balloon glass, between her hands, warming it gently and occasionally swirling it around the glass, Josephine recalled to mind again that wondrous first meeting last night, with Vincent.

Was it really only last night? She mused silently.

And suddenly, she knew with certainty that he would come to her tonight ....

She had no idea _**how**_ she knew.

_**She just did ....**_

Her heart missed a beat, then beat a little too quickly in her chest, as she smiled softly to herself.

Whatever it was that had passed between them last night still lingered, for she could feel his life's essence, feel the strength of it, and knew beyond a doubt that at the very instant that she had been thinking about him, somewhere .... out there .... Vincent had been thinking about _**her**_ too.

He would come. To the attic again. And this time, there would be no reserve. No shyness. No reticence. No fear.

Josephine set aside the untouched brandy, and bid goodnight to Mrs Ludlow, telling the elderly housekeeper that she was going up to the attic to sort through the remainder of her mother's papers, and that then she would be retiring to bed.

"Not staying up to see in the New Year, doctor?"

"No, not this year, Mrs Ludlow. I think I'll let the old one slip out quietly. Don't want to make too much fuss and set myself up for another disastrous year. How about you and Mr Ludlow? Do you have any plans?" Josephine enquired politely, sensing that the older woman was really making an effort to be civil, even friendly.

"When we were younger, we would go to Times Square with all the other revelers and welcome the new year in across the country, but these days, we stay home and watch it on TV. In bed by 12.30 ...." She smiled softly. "No stamina these days, I guess ...."

As the older woman spoke, it brought to mind for Josephine, images of bygone days, when as a student on vacation from Oxford, she had gone to London and joined the other pranksters as they danced in the fountains in Trafalgar Square.

Nowadays, such antics were frowned upon, and they did not even bother to show it on the television any more, viewers having to be satisfied with an image of Big Ben chiming out twelve strokes as fireworks exploded outside their homes.

"I guess there'll be a few thick heads in the morning," Esther Ludlow sighed softly.

"Mmm. I never could understand the logic of starting the first day of a New Year off, with a pounding headache and a sick stomach ...."

"Some folks don't feel that they've truly had a good time unless they feel the worse for it the next morning," Esther Ludlow said wryly.

"That's very true, but not I," Josephine crossed the dining room on impulse, and upon reaching the older woman's side, quickly pressed her lips to the other woman's soft, plump cheek. "Happy New Year, Mrs Ludlow ...."

"To us all, doctor ...." The older woman responded in a low, rough voice, obviously taken aback by this unexpected show of affection.

"Thank you Mrs Ludlow .... for everything. These past months haven't been easy on any of us, but I have been most grateful for your support .... and for keeping the house running smoothly. Pass on my regards to Mr Ludlow ...."

Josephine stepped back then, noting the tears welling up in the elderly housekeeper's rheumy old eyes.

"Maybe 1995 will be a good year for all of us. Goodnight, Mrs Ludlow ...."

"Goodnight, doctor ...."

/a\

Up in her room, Josephine changed out of the simple blue cocktail dress that she had selected to wear for dinner, and donned blue denim jeans and a thick black turtleneck sweater, thick white socks and loafers, before climbing up to the attic, carrying a blanket under her arm, and a fresh book of matches in her back pocket.

Later, when she was sure that the Ludlow's had retired for the night, Josephine planned to go down to the kitchen to make a thermos of hot chocolate, so that when Vincent arrived, they could talk in comfort, warm and cozy, a blanket around their legs and mugs of sweet, steaming hot chocolate between their hands.

The attic was dark, and through the small square of clear glass in the skylight, Josephine could see an endless black sky with a smattering of bright stars twinkling cheerfully.

Smiling to herself, and feeling more light hearted than she had in a long time, Josephine set to work, clearing more space on the floor, after lighting a couple of hurricane lanterns, which filled the attic with softly dancing golden light, chasing away the shadows, and then, when she was satisfied with her efforts, Josephine went down to the kitchen, where she heated milk in a pan on the stove, and made creamy, frothy, sweet hot chocolate, which she carefully poured into a tall thermos flask and carried very carefully, along with two tall earthenware mugs, back through the house.

As she crossed the black and white checkered, marble tiled hallway, the antique brass carriage clock struck the quarter hour, 11.45 pm and Josephine knew beyond a doubt that Vincent was close, and she quickened her step.

The soft tap on the skylight came just before the first stroke of midnight, and Vincent eased his body through the small opening and landed agilely with only the softest of thuds before the second stroke.

As the night was suddenly filled with noise, a crowd cheering, fireworks exploding in the sky, the bells of every church in the city ringing in the New Year, Vincent took two small strides across the attic, and folded Josephine gently into his strong arms.

"Happy New Year, my brother," she sighed contentedly, savoring the wonderful sensation of his strong arms about her, and his heart beating strong and regular beneath her cheek.

"Happy New Year, my little sister ...." He returned in a gruff voice, expelling a deep sigh which ruffled Josephine's fringe.

Josephine squeezed his solid, sturdy body fiercely, sensing in him a great sadness, but before she could ask him what troubled him so, he drew away from her and looked around him, taking in the small changes that she had made for their comfort, since the previous night.

There was a brief moment of awkwardness, neither knowing what to say to the other, then Josephine came to her senses, and with an embarrassed little smile, indicated to the mattress and blanket on the floor.

"Make yourself comfortable, Vincent," She invited, and watched as he pushed back that capacious hood, and gathering his cloak about him, eased himself down on to the soft mattress.

"You have been busy ...." Vincent commented absently, watching as Josephine opened the thermos flask and poured out a steaming liquid, which from it's aroma, he knew, could only be hot chocolate, and he smiled.

"My favorite ...." He remarked, still smiling, as she handed him a mug. "How did you know?"

"I'm .... er .... I'm not really sure ...." She replied a little awkwardly. "I just did. The same as I _**knew**_ that you would come tonight ...." She sighed softly as she gave a brief shrug of her shoulders.

Vincent merely nodded.

So-o-o .... it seemed that she shared his gift of empathy.

"I can't explain it," Josephine sighed again, carrying her own mug of hot chocolate over to the mattress, and sat down beside him very carefully, so as not to spill a drop of the precious liquid.

"I believe that I can ...." Vincent hesitated for a moment. _**How is it that after only one, brief meeting, he felt relaxed enough to tell her everything?**_ "Last night .... when you .... when you reached out to me .... when you embraced me .... we .... we shared ...."

"Yes ...."

"We became connected somehow ...."

"I know .... I _**felt**_ it .... I .... felt .... _** you**_ ...." She let out a soft sigh. "Vincent, I felt you, in my mind .... body .... soul .... It's really weird, but I knew you were thinking about me earlier, and I knew that you would come here tonight ...."

Josephine smiled then, a little self consciously.

"Is that what it feels like to have a brother, Vincent?"

"A brother such as I, Josephine. Yes ...."

"I was right. You're an empath."

"Yes .... if by that you mean that I feel what others are feeling. I know their thoughts sometimes .... I know what is in their hearts .... However, there is only one other with whom this connection has been as strong ...." Vincent's voice trailed away then.

_**And there it was again ....**_

_**That terrible sadness ....**_

_**Black ....**_

_**A terrible pressure weighing him down ....**_

_**All encompassing ....**_

"Vincent?" Josephine turned her head slightly to look at him, her big green/gold eyes full of compassion and understanding.

"It is nothing ...."

"Don't lie to me, Vincent. You _**can't**_ lie to me. I _**know**_ what you are feeling. Believe me. I _**know**_ .... I know grief when I feel it .... I've had my fair share of it, after all ...."

Vincent turned infinitely sad sky blue eyes on her, and merely nodded, accepting the truth of her words.

"Tell me, Vincent ...." Josephine invited softly, setting down her full mug of chocolate on the hard wooden floor, and reached out for his hand.

"What should I tell you?"

"Anything. Everything. Whatever you feel able to tell me .... fair is fair .... you know pretty much all that there is to know about me," She reminded him gently. "Have you been happy, Vincent? Has your life been good? Do you have someone who loves you .... someone to love ...."

"Yes ...." He expelled the word on a hissed breath. "Despite my strange appearance .... I have never been short of love. My father saw to that ...."

"Your father?" Josephine frowned.

"The man who took me in .... raised me as his son. The man that you met in the park," Vincent explained in soft, velvet tones, and Josephine was actually able to physically feel Vincent's love for the old man washing over her.

"Father saw to my every need .... physical .... mental .... emotional .... There was no better guide .... teacher .... parent .... I could not have wished for more ...."

"I'm glad ...."

"And there are others who have shared my life .... my journey .... offered me love and companionship along the way, and whom I have loved in return. But .... Father ...." His voice trailed away again, and again, Josephine could feel the depth of love that he had for the feisty old man.

No wonder he had been so protective .... Josephine thought to herself silently.

The two men obviously had a very strong and loving relationship, and she was truly glad.

It somehow made Andrea's act of selflessness seem more meaningful.

"That's something else that we have in common, Vincent," Josephine squeezed his hand affectionately then. "My father was a wonderful man .... very caring .... very insightful .... He tried his best to make up for the fact that my mother seemed completely indifferent to me ... showing me no affection .... no interest ...." She felt him suddenly grow tense beside her. "Or at least, so I thought ...." She added quickly. "I know better now ...." She smiled gently before continuing.

"He tried to cushion the blow. I miss him still. He's been gone for almost twenty years, but I still miss him so very much ...."

She grew silent for a long moment, remembering her father, and some of the precious moments that they had shared, and Vincent shared her sorrow and her pleasure in that moment of silence.

"And what of your family, Vincent?" Josephine broke the silence at last.

"My family?" His tone was full of surprise now.

"Yes. Your family." She grinned at him. "Brothers? Sisters?"

"I grew up amongst many children, and considered each of them to be good friends, even brothers and sisters, but there was one special brother. Devin ...."

A smile curved at his lips then, and Josephine was again able to feel the warmth of affection for this man coursing through Vincent.

"We had many adventures as boys .... but .... we grew apart ...."

"I'm sorry ...." And she genuinely was.

"Devin had his life to lead .... his own path to follow .... and where it led, I could not go with him ...."

"Did you ever see him again, Vincent?"

"Oh yes. He stops by from time to time. You see, he is Father's biological son, and they have something of a tempestuous relationship, but, after years apart, during which time, both harbored feelings of guilt and anger toward the other, they finally managed to reach an understanding. They love each other .... but .... they simply cannot live with each other ...."

"That's sad ...."

"Not really. It is better than being miserable and staying together out of a sense of obligation. Besides, Devin still knows how to make life interesting .... and complicated ...."

There was love and amusement in his beautiful velvet voice now, and Josephine sensed Vincent's pleasure as he recalled boyhood escapades.

"I had a lonely childhood," Josephine sighed softly, drawing Vincent's beautiful china blue gaze. "I had few friends at school, and few social skills. I guess I didn't feel that anyone could love me, or want to be close to me, growing up thinking that if my own mother couldn't love me, why would anyone else want to bother ...."

"Josephine ...."

"And then I met Jeff, and we fell in love .... and he taught me to love myself, Vincent, showed me with love and patience, that I had value .... worth .... He filled up all the empty places inside me, Vincent .... gave me a whole new outlook on life. And when Amy was born, I thought that my world was complete. I had everything that I had wanted .... dreamed about .... and then ...."

Vincent watched as Josephine's unusual eyes filled with tears, and the enormity of her grief and heartache slammed into him, momentarily robbing him of breath.

"I miss them both so very much," Josephine continued in a sad little voice, tight with unshed tears, her lips quivering as she fought not to give into the sorrow. "But I console myself by telling myself that at least I had them, for a little while, that just for a moment, they touched my life, and gave it meaning, when for so very long, I believed that I would be alone, forever .... It could have been so very different, Vincent. I might never have had either of them ...." She squeezed her eyes closed and forced the tears out between her fine lashes. "I never expected to know that kind of love, Vincent. Never ...."

"Me neither," he whispered thickly, and Josephine turned her head sharply to look at him with over bright green/gold eyes.

"Then we were both wrong, Vincent. _**Everyone**_ deserves to know love. _**Everyone**_. Giving love is the easy part, Vincent, the knack is finding someone to love you in return. No matter what. And learning to accept that gift graciously, no matter how little we believe that we deserve it ...."

"Yes. You are very wise, Josephine ...."

"You found someone, Vincent?"

Again the wave of great sadness crashed through Josephine, and Vincent quickly lowered his gaze.

Josephine immediately sensed that she had touched on a raw nerve, a hurt that had never healed

When he looked up once more, those beautiful soulful blue eyes were shining with unshed tears, and such love, it tore at Josephine's heart.

"Her name is .... Catherine ...." There was such agony in his voice, such an ache emanating from deep within him that Josephine instinctively knew that that simple name summed up everything that was important and precious in Vincent's life, was indeed, the very centre of his world, and she listened intently as he went on to explain how fate had brought them together. How love had flourished, giving both of their lives new meaning, how they had shared a Bond, a connection that had enabled Vincent to feel Catherine's every emotion, and to protect her from danger.

Josephine could hear and feel the love coming from Vincent as he told her how the fairy tale had begun.

And then, she experienced his anguish, shame, fear and disgust, as he explained his need to protect Catherine, at any cost, and the men that he had killed in doing so.

Josephine remained silent, allowing him to continue, and because she could feel his very strong and turbulent emotions, Josephine wanted to tell him that he did not need to justify his actions to her, that she understood completely. That he had been following his strongest instinct of all, the need to protect a loved one, and that although she had never been in such a position herself, of actually physically carrying out the act. She had felt the burning need, only once, and she knew that everyone had the capacity to kill, and not always for such high principles either.

She said nothing, opening herself to him, and the look that he gave to her as he drew in a deep, calming breath, was all that she needed to know that he had felt her reaction, and understood.

Vincent continued in a low, ragged voice, explaining the illness that had robbed him of his precious Bond with Catherine, giving few details of the illness it's self, but she got a very strong impression of terror and rage and a terrible struggle to hold on to his very sanity.

His grief threatened to engulf her, as his story moved on to Catherine's abduction, his nightly search of the city to find her, and how he had eventually found Catherine at last, just delivered of a boy child, who was spirited away by a greedy, ruthless man, into the night.

And Catherine ....

Telling him that he had a child .... a beautiful son ....

Before dying in his arms ....

Only ....

She hadn't died.

Not really.

But he had not known that then.

If they had still shared their unique Bond, he would have known that. But instead, he had carried her lifeless body home, to her apartment, staying with her until dawn's first light had driven him to the safety of his home.

And driven he had been from that moment. Firstly, by grief, believing for six long months that she was dead. Gone. Lost forever ....

And then by the need to avenge Catherine's death, and to seek out his baby son, and bring him home where he belonged.

He had had help along the way, and eventually, the fiend, Gabriel had been defeated and Vincent had brought his son home.

Naming him Jacob, after the man he had always known as Father.

Josephine felt the tide of emotion rising and falling inside Vincent, and she sensed that that was not the end of the story.

And indeed, it was not.

After taking another deep breath, Vincent went on to recount the end of the tale.

The discovery that his beloved Catherine was not dead, merely in a deep coma, the law enforcement agencies preferring to allow even her closest friends to believe that Catherine had died, even going to the extreme lengths of encouraging those friends to lay on an expensive and elaborate funeral service for her, only to finally reveal the truth when Diana Bennett had closed the case and cleared Vincent of any suspicion.

"And now, Vincent?" Josephine probed gently after a prolonged silence, when he had his head buried in his hands, his shoulder length hair falling in a silken curtain to conceal his face from her eyes. "What of your Catherine now?" She asked softly.

"She is still in a coma ...." He confessed raggedly, lifting his head, his thick, rich red/gold mane cascading around his shoulders, his eyes, big and bright with fresh tears and pain relived, before lowering his head once more,

"Where, Vincent? In a hospice? In a hospital, here in New York?"

"In a hospital. Lennox Hill ...." He looked up at her then, china blue eyes still swimming with unshed tears, and again, Josephine felt his pain and grief wash over her.

"What is it, Vincent?" Josephine reached out for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "What is it? Tell me?"

"I .... I .... I think I am losing her ...." He choked out thickly. "I feel her .... slipping away."

"I thought that you said that your Bond with Catherine was broken, Vincent ...."

"Yes .... it was .... although over the years, I have had a small sense of her .... being distant .... vague .... faraway ...." He blinked away still more tears, and hung his head once more. "I no longer experience her emotions ...."

"She's in a coma, Vincent, no-one knows what that is like. Has there been any sign of improvement in her condition over the years, Vincent?"

"No ...." He sighed raggedly. "No change. No change at all ...."

"Is she on a ventilator?"

"No," he looked up at her once more, with a wealth of grief and sorrow in his eyes. "One small mercy. Catherine was able to breathe on her own after the first few hours, although they kept her on a ventilator for a few days .... or so I believe ...."

"Vincent .... would you mind if I paid Catherine a visit? I am a medical doctor ...." She reminded him gently. "And I wasn't always a pathologist immersed in the mysteries of death ...." She smiled softly. "And .... I would like a chance to meet my sister-in-law ...."

"Catherine and I were never .... married ..." He hung his head again.

"You loved each other, Vincent .... enough to create a new life together ...." This brought Vincent's head up sharply, and the look that he gave to her was unreadable, however, what she could feel coming from him was guilt .... confusion and anguish. "That's enough for me ...."

"Josephine ...." Vincent lowered his gaze once more, ashamed to reveal that he had no memory of his son's conception, of the one brief moment of intimacy with Catherine that had resulted in the boy's life.

"Vincent?" Josephine probed gently, sensing his reticence.

"I er .... I have no memory of my son's conception .... Indeed, I have so few memories of my life just before my illness. I had only Catherine's word .... and that of Gabriel .... that he is my son ...." He paused for a moment, and Josephine could feel love and acceptance and a great deal of pride coming from her brother now. "Now .... I _**know**_ it .... for we too, share a Bond ...."

"So, Vincent .... would you mind .... my visiting with Catherine?" Josephine asked after a lengthy silence, and Vincent was relieved that she saw no need to comment on his statement about his lack of memories of how his son had come to be.

"No, I would not mind. I have already told her a little about you ...."

"I'm honored," Josephine grinned then, squeezing his hand affectionately. "And what about my nephew?"

"Jacob."

"Yes, Jacob. When do I get to meet him?"

"Soon. He is very impatient to meet you too."

"Good. You don't know how my arms have ached to hold a child .... since I lost my precious Amy ...." Josephine confessed softly, and this time, Vincent draped his arm lovingly around her shoulders, and drew his sister into his body.

"I was at least spared that pain ...."

"There are varying degrees of pain, Vincent. You are still in pain, over your Catherine."

He simply nodded in reply, as she snuggled up closer to his warm, solid body, taking in the unusual scents on his clothing, candle wax, candle smoke, rich, wet earth ....

"Your visiting Catherine could be a good idea .... providing her with new stimuli ...." Vincent said at last.

"Yes," And she could judge for herself the young woman's condition, decide for herself if Vincent's hopes of a recovery were in vain.

Or, if his fears that she was slipping away were justified.

"Vincent .... what makes you think that Catherine is .... slipping away?"

"I have dreams .... of her .... waking dreams ...." This brought a puzzled frown to Josephine's brow, but she made no comment. "When will you go?"

"Tomorrow .... I mean, today ...." She amended, remembering that it was well past midnight, and that 1995 had already begun. "Seems like a good way to start off a new year .... and we'll speak again tonight ...."

"As you wish ...."

"Now, more hot chocolate?" She asked, drawing away reluctantly to reach out for the thermos. "And why don't you tell me all about my nephew. Jacob. I'll just bet he is as cute as a button ...."

Vincent regarded her big, clear blue eyes filled with love, and smiled softly in agreement.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE.**

**SUNDAY 1ST JANUARY 1995 - NEW YORK CITY**.

Far beneath the city streets, the New Year celebrations were well under way, and Jacob Wells, nursing a silver goblet of his favorite red wine, was in jovial mood, mellow and relaxed, deeply satisfied with his lot, after a pleasant meal, a drop or two of wine and good company.

His eyes wondered casually around the Great Hall, taking in the happy, smiling faces of his friends and family here Below. His beloved Mary was chatting with Olivia, Brooke, Rachel and some of the other women, no doubt discussing the children, or the need for new clothes, or bed linen, there always seemed to be a need, but no-one went without clothes on their backs, a comfortable, warm bed and food in their stomachs, here Below.

From the way that the ladies had their heads together, Jacob suddenly suspected that their main topic of conversation, indeed, the main topic of conversation all around him, was about his son.

About the extraordinary change in him in the past few days.

And, of course, his impending fortieth birthday, now only eleven days away.

Mary had only mentioned to him that very morning that if they were going to do something special to mark the occasion, they should start making plans.

The centre of everyone's speculation and curiosity was presently sitting with young Jacob on one knee and young Catherine, Lena's beautiful child, on the other, spinning some glorious yarn that had both children captivated, and giggling merrily.

It was a wonderful sight to behold, Vincent, looking young and carefree, except for just the hint of worry in those expressive aqua eyes that probably only his Father was eagle-eyed enough to have noticed.

It warmed Jacob Well's old heart to see his son so relaxed and at ease, enjoying being storyteller and hero to young Jacob and Catherine.

He was doing a very good job of hiding his one lingering fear.

That Catherine Chandler was finally slipping away.

Father and son had talked long and hard, well into the night, after Vincent had returned from his visit to Josephine Grayson's attic.

And Vincent had finally admitted that he feared that Catherine was slipping away from him.

Vincent had confided that his sister had asked to see Catherine, and that he suspected that it was more than the simple need to meet her brother's one true love, and the mother of her nephew.

And secretly, Jacob Wells had been glad.

Perhaps Vincent would be better inclined to listen to what his sister had to say about Catherine Chandler's condition. Her prognosis.

In the meantime, it seemed that Vincent was determined to get the New Year off to a flying start, entertaining the children and joking with the adults, even going so far as to indulge in a little gentle teasing of Mouse, about impending fatherhood.

Ah yes ….

Father's gaze moved on then, seeking out, and finding at last, Mouse and Jamie, canoodling in a corner, looking happy and radiant as they held each other close and gazed adoringly into each other's eyes.

Jacob Wells was truly happy for the young couple, sharing their joy that a new life would be coming into their special world.

But, he could not help recalling the odd occasion when he had inadvertently caught his son and his lady love in a similar clinch, much to their amusement and his embarrassment.

And silently conceded that there wasn't anything that he would not give to see those two special people locked in each other's arms once again.

But, it hardly seemed likely.

Still, as Mary had said, where there is life there is hope.

And it was New Year's Day.

If he could have one wish come true, this day.

It would be to see the star-crossed lovers reunited, free to live their happy life together, giving the fairy tale the happy ever after ending that it deserved.

And this time, he would give them both his heartfelt blessings.

/a\

January 1 started very simply in the Grayson household, with the lady of the house rising early and partaking of a light breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast and a cup of hot Earl Grey tea.

After breakfast, Josephine retired to the drawing room, and relaxed on the couch, trying to call to mind all that she had ever learned about the medical condition that was coma.

She had had something of a restless night, her thoughts constantly returning to the look on Vincent's face and what she had felt emanating from him, as he had told her about the fate of the woman that he loved.

_**Still loved .... **_Five years on.

_**But ....**_

Five years was a long time for anyone to have been in a coma.

Some people never recovered, kept alive with machinery, until the medical staff decided that there was no longer any real quality of life.

But ....

Some people _**did**_ recover.

Even the most unlikely cases.

But even then, recovery was not without it's complications and disappointments.

It all depended on the individual patient.

Their character. Their strength of will. Age and general health at the time of initial coma also played a part.

And in that respect, Catherine Chandler was fortunate.

She was young .... still young, in her late thirties, and she was strong, and more importantly, well motivated and strong willed.

Josephine's dreams had been filled with the pained expression on her brother's unique face, and the agony and anguish and the emptiness and the sense of loss that he still felt, even now, five years on.

Josephine was not an expert on the condition known as coma, but she knew enough to be able to reach certain conclusions about Catherine Chandler's condition, and her prognosis.

Mid morning found Josephine in church, singing her praises and offering her wholehearted thanks, along with the rest of the congregation, and then she walked the short distance to the cemetery, and spent a few silent moments beside her parents' final resting place, before returning to the house and savoring Mrs Ludlow's delicious roast lamb and succulent vegetables, and sweet apple pie and ice cream.

After her sumptuous luncheon, Josephine grew restless again, eager to get to Lennox Hill Hospital and introduce herself to Catherine Chandler.

But Vincent had warned her that Catherine's friends, Joe and Jenny Maxwell, might be at the hospital, and she had no wish to intrude on their special, private time, with Catherine.

Josephine tried reading a book, and watching a little television, but she could not concentrate on the Mary Higgins Clark novel that she had been hoping to immerse herself in, and the old black and white move, _**THE SPIRAL STAIRCASE**_, with the Barrymores and Dorothy McGuire did nothing to soothe her restlessness.

And so, at about 2.00 pm, Josephine left the house once more, and climbed into the back of a cab, asking the driver to take her to Lennox Hill Hospital.

Vincent had been very thorough in providing her with information about the location of Catherine Chandler's room, on the third floor, and as she stepped off the elevator, her low heeled fashionable black leather boots made a soft clicking sound against the stark, scratched grey tiles on the floor.

Her presence raised little interest at the nurses' station as she made her way to the end of the corridor, and she was challenged by only one staff member, the floor's Senior Nurse, Maggie Connors, who pointed out Catherine Chandler's room, when Josephine explained who she was there to visit.

When she reached the closed door at the far end of the corridor, Josephine was startled as it suddenly swung open before she had a chance to touch it, and from within, she could suddenly hear the thin, plaintive wail of a hungry baby, and a woman's soft voice trying to soothe the child.

She also became aware of a deeper voice, a man's voice, talking baby gibberish, and the soft, babyish chuckles coming from two distinct sources.

The Maxwells.

Making preparations to leave, or so it sounded.

Josephine hesitated, wondering if she should hang back, wait until they had said their farewells and made their departure.

But it was already too late, for she was suddenly face to face with a pretty young woman with big dark eyes and a halo of soft dark brown curls framing her face, cradling a softly mewling baby of no more than six weeks old in her arm, whilst holding the door open with her foot.

The other woman was suddenly startled, and gave a soft, nervous laugh, as she was joined by a man of medium height, very dark hair and a swarthy complexion, holding tightly onto the tiny hands of identical girls, with their mother's curls and eyes, dressed in identical emerald silk dresses and ruffled panties over their diapers.

"Oh .... hi ...." The woman said in a high pitched voice, her gaze drifting down to her unhappy babe.

"Hi," Josephine responded softly.

"I think you must have the wrong room ...."

"I don't think so. If you're the Maxwells, then I'm definitely in the right place," Josephine smiled politely. "I'm here to see Catherine Chandler ...."

Husband and wife exchanged puzzled glances, remaining in the doorway.

"I'm Josephine Grayson. Vincent's sister. You must be Jenny and Joe, and these must be Cathy, Diana and Vincent. Vincent has told me so much about you ...."

Josephine smiled brightly and extended her hand, noting the flabbergasted expressions on both of their faces.

"Vincent's sister?" Jenny managed at last.

"Well .... half sister ...."

"We had no idea that Vincent had a sister," Joe Maxwell added, his tone of voice suspicious.

_**Neither did he until a few days ago ….**_ Josephine thought silently, but said nothing.

"I have been living abroad for a number of years," Josephine explained simply. "England. Got back just before Christmas ...."

"He .... Vincent .... He never said ...."

"No. Keeps things pretty close to his chest, that one," Josephine grinned, then turned sympathetic eyes on Jenny Maxwell, as the babe in her arms chose that moment to let out a high pitched scream. "Sounds like you have a hungry young man on your hands. Please, don't let me keep you ...."

"Thanks. Nice to meet you ...." Jenny Maxwell spoke softly.

"Josephine."

"Yeah. Nice to meet you, Josephine ...." Joe Maxwell herded the twins out through the door and followed his wife out into the corridor.

"Happy New Year ...." This from Jenny now, who was regarding Josephine with open curiosity and ignoring her husband's blatantly warning looks.

"Same to you. I wont stay too long," Josephine assured.

"No .... please .... stay as long as you like ... I'm sure Cathy will be pleased to hear a different voice ...." A beautiful smile broke out on Jenny Maxwell's face then. "Welcome to the family ...."

She slowly reached out with her free hand, and squeezed Josephine's hand gently.

"Give Vincent our love, " Then she withdrew her hand quickly and urged Joe and the twin girls on their way back down the corridor toward the elevator.

Josephine watched them go with a smile on her lips, and tears brimming in her eyes, forcing down the lump in her throat, and dragging in a deep breath, the adorable twin girls having reminded her of her own dear, sweet Amy.

Josephine took a few moments to compose herself once more, then pushed the spring loaded door open once more, and stepped inside.

/a\

The Maxwells rode down in the elevator in silence, their minds on keeping order amongst their boisterous brood, while Joe reached into the diaper bag for a small bottle of formula to pacify young Vincent, which then led to hunting out bottles of juice for the girls, who did not want to be left out.

Husband and wife knew each other well enough, and no words were needed for Jenny Maxwell to know what was on her beloved Joe's mind.

She could read his troubled eyes too well, now, and knew his suspicious nature.

Jenny knew that the sudden appearance of a woman claiming to be Vincent's half sister, in Catherine's room, bothered Joe Maxwell greatly.

Indeed, the whole business surrounding Catherine still bothered him, because so much of it was still up in the air.

Like Vincent's identity, and the reason why they had never seen him.

After all, Joe had once said to his wife, in a rash moment of despair, they only had Diana Bennett's assurances that this Vincent character had played no part in what had happened to Catherine Chandler five years ago.

And, unlike his dear wife, Joe Maxwell was not so trusting.

To his way of thinking, it was all just a little too fishy.

Who knew what kind of deals this Vincent guy had made with Diana, or the F.B.I. to keep his name out of things.

After all, Diana had negotiated the terms for Catherine's hospitalization with them, on Vincent's behalf.

If this Vincent guy loved Cathy so much, why hadn't he come forward to deal with him and Jenny directly?

And .... If he and Cathy had been so very much in love, as Diana had explained, why was it that Catherine had never so much as mentioned his name to anyone, at the office, to Joe or Jenny, or any of her other friends and work colleagues?

Joe had smelled a rat.

And five years on, that aroma wasn't getting any sweeter.

Why the need for secrecy?

It was a mystery to Joe, one that had given him countless headaches and a lot of grief and heartache over they years.

But, for Jenny's sake, Joe Maxwell had held his tongue, and kept his own counsel, determined that one day, he would know the truth of it.

Maybe today was that day.

"Joe ...." Jenny dug him none too gently in the ribs, to get his attention, as the elevator doors opened on the level of the basement parking garage.

"Huh?" He frowned, realizing that he had committed the one cardinal sin of married life, not paying attention to what his wife was saying. "Oh .... sorry honey. What did you say?"

"I said, do you have to look so fierce? You're scaring the kids ...."

"Ha, ha ...."

"Oh, lighten up a little Joe, it's New Years," Jenny let out a soft little sigh as she reached out to stop young Cathy from running out into the poorly illuminated parking garage.

"Sorry," Joe mumbled, following his wife out of the elevator car, and scooped Diana up into his strong arms, smiling at the child, as she let out a soft chuckle.

"I know you're intrigued, love, and to be honest, so am I," Jenny confessed softly. "And I know that you want to get to the bottom of this .... but ...."

"But it's none of my business ...."

"Right ...."

"Wrong ...." He sighed deeply as they set about strapping their young family into their seats in the back if the luxury family car, double checking that each child was securely fastened in before taking their own seats up front.

"Hon?" Jenny's voice invaded Joe's thoughts once more, and he immediately recognized both her tone of voice, and the pointed look on her pretty face.

_**Darn ....**_

_**He'd done it again ....**_

"We're not moving ...." She arched an eyebrow at him.

"I know ...."

"It might help if you switched the engine on ...." Jenny sighed, trying to smother a grin. He was so easy to tease, and she could not resist.

"Jen ...."

Joe's voice was deep and low, and he wasn't smiling back at her, as Jenny had expected.

"What is it, honey?"

"I gotta know ...." He let out another deep sigh.

_**"Know what**_, Joe?"

"What that woman wants with Cathy ...." He turned dark eyes on his wife, and she recognized the look that she found there, and it tore at her heart.

Of course, she hadn't been surprised when he had confessed to her, when they had first started dating, so that there would be no secrets between them, that he had been in love with Catherine for a long time.

Jenny had managed to work that much out for herself.

And that had somehow made him even more dear to her, precious, because she knew that he had never let on to Catherine about his feelings for her.

But ....

That he still hadn't gotten over what had happened .... five years on ....

That hurt ....

Just a little ....

Oh yes .... Jenny knew that Joe loved her. He was usually so devoted, attentive and extremely passionate.

But ....

He hadn't quite gotten over Catherine Chandler ....

And she wondered if he ever truly would.

And ....

She reminded herself .... that _**that**_is exactly how Vincent feels too .... _**and he has ever right ....**_

"I'm sorry, Jen. I just gotta ...."

He held her gaze, and now Jenny could see that it was more than merely past history that drew him.

It was a genuine concern for Catherine Chandler's welfare.

Primarily, he had been, and still was, Catherine's friend.

And self appointed guardian these past five years.

"I wont be long ...." He promised, reaching out to open his door.

"What! Joe ...." But he was already out of the car and striding back toward the elevator. "Well if that doesn't beat all!" Jenny sighed. "Kids, I think your Dad is going nuts ...." She mumbled, then grinned broadly, as Cathy and Diana giggled back at her.

Still ....

Wasn't that what she had fallen in love with, about Joe?

His passion .... for everything ....

Because he cared for Catherine ....

Might he not then care for her in the same way?

And ....

He did ....

She watched him step inside the elevator, and then let out another deep sigh, knowing that she was just as curious about this stranger, and Vincent himself, and hoping that maybe the woman would be able to provide Joe with some answers that would at last, give him peace.

/a\

Josephine Grayson stood just inside the doorway, gazing down at the beautiful doll like woman who lay perfectly still in the centre of the narrow hospital bed.

So ....

This was Catherine Chandler.

This was the woman who was the centre of her brother's world, his universe ....

She was beautiful .... in a delicate, vulnerable, ethereal way. Clear complexion, good bone structure .... figure.

And she looked so peaceful.

Serene.

After what seemed like an eternity of studying that beautiful face, Josephine eventually got her feet to respond to the command to move, and walked around the bed, giving only a cursory glance to the monitoring equipment, which was standard to any hospital Intensive Care center, measuring blood pressure, heart rate, brain wave activity, as she opened up the small holdall that she had brought with her and took out a cassette tape.

Vincent had told her that he and Catherine had very much enjoyed listening to classical music together, and that Jenny Maxwell had arranged for a cassette player to be placed on the locker beside Catherine's bed, so that tapes of music, and audio books could be played to Catherine in the interludes when she had no visitors.

Now, Josephine slipped the cassette tape into the deck and pressed the play button, adjusting the sound so that the beautifully haunting music of Beethoven's _**MOONLIGHT SONATA**_ was the perfect backdrop.

Josephine was silent for a long time, enjoying the music, gathering her thoughts together, and had just pulled out the chair by the bed, to sit down, when she heard the soft swish of the door opening, and she turned around sharply to find Joe Maxwell standing in the doorway, a very enigmatic look on his face.

"Mr Maxwell ...."

"May I speak with you?" He asked in a soft voice, his expression solemn, his dark gaze momentarily settling on Catherine Chandler's passive face, before returning to regard her, and Josephine nodded in silent agreement, and followed him out of the room and into the corridor.

"Who the hell are you?" He demanded harshly, wasting no time with pleasantries or even civilities, and Josephine had to fight to prevent a smile from touching her lips.

He was so like other law enforcement officers that she had encountered, here and back home in England, full of bluster and arrogance and rage, to hide the fact that they had hearts not swinging bricks, and despite their macho images, did indeed feel compassion, fear and concern.

"I thought that we had established that, Mr Maxwell. I have already told you ...." She reminded.

"I know .... I know .... you're Vincent's sister ....

"Half sister ...." She corrected. "Yes. I am."

"Forgive me, but if you'd turned up out of the blue four and a half years ago, I might not have had such a hard time believing you ...." He glowered.

"Mr Maxwell, I know that this has come as something of a surprise to you, but, believe me, it's more of a surprise to me. Four and a half years ago, I didn't know I even had a half brother. Four and half months ago, even four and a half weeks ago .... I had no idea that Vincent existed ...." Josephine explained gently. "It's somewhat complicated, but suffice to say, when I heard what had happened to Catherine, I had to come .... to introduce myself .... and maybe judge for myself her condition. I can understand your concern, in light of what happened to Catherine, but I assure you, my reasons for being here are honorable. To see for myself how Catherine is .... and to tell her all about myself."

"Wow, back up a little ...." He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "What do you mean, judge her condition? See for yourself how Catherine is?" He eyed her suspiciously. "What are you? A doctor?"

"Actually, yes." She smiled prettily then. "Mr Maxwell, I am not your enemy, and neither is Vincent." She assured softly. "He is still deeply in love with Catherine, and is very afraid that she might be slipping away, and so I told him that I would drop by and see how she was doing."

Joe Maxwell still did not look convinced, and Josephine let out a deep sigh, reaching into her purse.

"Mr Maxwell, I assure you that you can trust me. However, just so that you can be absolutely sure ...." She extracted a long white envelope from her purse and handed it over to Joe Maxwell.

He was quick to spot the official F.B.I. seal on the envelope, and again on the letter head, and quickly scanned the text of the letter, gleaning from it the essential information that Dr Josephine Grayson was to take up an appointment as an F.M.E. Forensic Medical Examiner, at the New York Field office, on January 2, and he immediately recognized the signature of the Senior Agent In Charge, Andrew McNeal, from a Federal case that he had prosecuted about two years ago.

Okay ....

So maybe he had to trust her ....

"So, what is it with this Vincent guy?" He said on a deep sigh, handing back her letter of appointment and the accompanying envelope. "Any chance that Jen and I might actually get to meet him?" Josephine shrugged her shoulders noncommittally.

"I'm sorry, but that's really not for me to say. I do know that Vincent is very grateful for all of your support over the years, and appreciates the way that you have tried to include him in your family life, but, as for a meeting .... well .... you never know your luck in the big city ...."

Josephine held out her hand to him then, and he took it, grudgingly, and she gave his hand a brief, strong squeeze, before releasing it.

"Maybe you and your wife would like to come to dinner one night?" She held out her business card to him. "I would really welcome a chance to get to know you both a little better .... to talk ...."

It was his turn to shrug his shoulders.

"It's not easy to get baby sitters .... but ...."

"Call me anyway ...." She squeezed his hand once more, pressing the business card on him, then pushed the spring loaded door open and walked back inside Catherine Chandler's room, leaving Joe Maxwell standing alone in the corridor, feeling a little like he had been run down by a steam roller.

But ....

At least he was no longer consumed with the fear that Catherine's life was in immediate danger.

Pocketing the small white business card with the italic, silver script in his breast pocket, Joe Maxwell walked back up the corridor, nodding briefly in acknowledgement to Maggie Connors, the floor's Senior Nurse, as he passed the nurse's station then stepped on to the elevator.

/a\

"Well, honey?" Jenny asked as Joe slid into the car beside her and turned the key in the ignition.

"She's Vincent's half sister ...." He sighed deeply. "And she invited us to dinner ...." He added in a soft voice, knowing exactly how his beloved spouse would react, and he was not disappointed, as she let out a soft splutter, and reached across to plant a soft kiss to his slightly rough cheek.

"I hope that you accepted her offer, love 'cos at this rate, it's the only way that we'll get something to eat this week!" She chuckled at the pained expression on his dear face.

"Is that a hint that you are hungry, my love?" Jenny nodded.

"Me too .... I'm starved ...." A smile slowly began to form on his lips, and he reached out to pull her to him. "But not for turkey and all the trimmings ...." His voice was very low and very intimate, and Jenny immediately recognized the fire in his eyes.

"Me neither. Drive Maxwell, _**drive**_ ...." She beamed wickedly, and squealed with laughter as he grabbed her knee instead of the stick shift, then rammed the car into gear, gunned the engine, and then let out the clutch and the hand brake as he guided the car upward toward street level.

/a\

"Try again, shall we ...." Josephine mumbled to herself as she returned to Catherine Chandler's bedside, and sat down with a hearty sigh.

Beethoven's _**MOONLIGHT SONATA**_ had finished and the compilation tape had moved on to Dvorak's _**NEW WORLD SYMPHONY**_, the largo, and Josephine savored the sound of the horns in this, one of her most favorite pieces of music.

New world.

It certainly was.

Josephine smiled to herself at the thought.

With a soft sigh, she reached out for Catherine Chandler's small, delicately veined hand, mindful of the needle in the back of her hand feeding her precious nutrients from a clear plastic bag, attached to the metal I.V. stand beside the bed.

"Hello Catherine ...." She spoke softly, taking the weight of Catherine's hand in her own. "My name is Josephine Grayson ...." She paused to take in a long, slow breath, and expelled it softly before continuing. "And I am Vincent's sister ...."

There was no response from the beauty lying still in the centre of the hospital bed, but Josephine had not anticipated that there would be one.

"I know that I am a stranger to you. I am a stranger to Vincent too, but I know that he has told you something of me, and I guess that he must trust me, just a little, to have confided in me about you, and what happened to you."

Josephine paused once more, carefully scrutinizing Catherine Chandler's exquisitely beautiful face.

Indeed, Josephine was pleasantly surprised by Catherine's general appearance of good health, looking as though she had merely fallen asleep, a matter of only a few moments before, instead of being bedridden and comatose for the past five years.

"Vincent loves you .... so very much, Catherine .... but .... I guess that you don't need me to tell you that .... He misses you terribly ...."

The physician in Josephine Grayson took note of the healthy glow to Catherine's beautiful alabaster skin, the shine to her shoulder length honey gold hair, which had obviously been lovingly brushed and secured in a pretty wide, white satin ribbon, her short, neatly manicured fingernails and the generally good muscle tone of arms and legs, as she lay on top of the thin white sheet, the top sheet having been folded down to the bottom of the bed, around her feet.

The medical team supervising Catherine Chandler's condition had done an excellent job in maintaining her general condition, which boded well, should the day ever arrive when she regained consciousness.

"I guess you're wondering why I am here? Well ...." Josephine let out another soft sigh. "Vincent is very worried about you, Catherine. He is very afraid that you are slipping away. Please, don't give up, Catherine. Please. It would destroy him ...." She implored softly. "He needs you .... Without you ...."

Her voice trailed away then, and fighting against the tears that she could feel stinging at the back of her eyes, Josephine gently laid Catherine's hand back down on the top of the bed, and rose slowly from the chair to walk across the room to the window, her fingers pushing between the slats of the blind so that she could look down on the street below, not so busy as usual, but not deserted, as the streets of rural England would be, this fine New Year's Day.

"Happy New Year, Catherine. It's 1995, and so much has changed in the world, since you last looked upon it, but, I imagine that there is one thing that has not, one constant .... Vincent .... and his love for you ...."

Josephine was quiet for a long time, lost in silent contemplation, seemingly staring out of the window, but her attention was focused inward, seeing again, in her mind's eye, the faces of her beloved Jeff and Amy, as they had been, that last, fateful morning.

She in her usual hurry to get to the surgery, munching on a slice of toast while seeing to Amy's meals for the day, bottles of formula, bottles of juice, and the liquidized vegetables that she was beginning to take now.

Jeff, whistling along to a tune on Radio 2, stuffing the diaper bag with baby wipes, diapers, talcum and Amy's favorite toys, ready for the trip to the clinic later.

There had been no time for proper goodbyes, a quick kiss to the top of Amy's down soft head, a peck on the cheek for Jeff and a promise that she would call him later.

It all seemed like only yesterday.

But ....

It was two years ago .... and more ...

"I miss you both .... so much ...." Josephine whispered raggedly, suddenly blinded by hot tears. "I love you both .... Happy New Year, my darlings ...."

After several minutes of allowing the tears to roll unchecked down her cheeks, Josephine finally pulled herself together, and remembering where she was, and why, let go of the blind, and turned back to face Catherine Chandler, who lay, unmoved in the centre of the small hospital bed.

"I met your friends, Jenny and Joe Maxwell on the way in here. They were just leaving. He's quite a looker, that Joe Maxwell .... and they have a fine looking family ...."

Josephine wiped her tears away impatiently with the back of her hand, noting that the music had stopped.

Had she really been lost in thought that long?

What had happened to_** VIVALDI's SPRING**_?

_**PAVAROTTI'**_s hauntingly beautiful rendition of_** NESSUN DORMA ....**_

Blotting her wet cheeks with a rumpled tissue, Josephine walked over to the cassette player and turned the tape over. Soon, the haunting strains of _**RACHMANINOV's RHAPSODY ON A THEME OF PAGANNINI**_ floated around the room.

"I just love this piece .... don't you?" Josephine said with a sigh. "Where was I? Oh yes. The Maxwells. He's a pretty suspicious fellow, that Joe, and very protective of you."

As she turned to walk back around the bed, Josephine again noticed the monitoring equipment, silently displaying their lines and numbers in luminous red, amber and green. Equipment to monitor Catherine's heart rate, blood pressure and brain wave activity, all familiar to her, and all pretty much what they should be, for a body at rest.

Good strong pulse and heart rate, and minimal brain wave activity, very much as one might expect.

Except ....

_**There ....**_

A small blip ....

On the monitor registering brain wave activity.

_**And there ....**_

A different blip, on the machine measuring Catherine's blood pressure.

On an other wise even line.

Josephine told herself not to get excited.

She knew better than that.

Machines were not fool proof.

After five minutes of staring at the machine, she told herself that she was seeing things, when in all that time, all she got was a perfectly normal, regular reading.

Still ....

She continued to stare at all of the monitoring equipment, and was suddenly rewarded with another blip, again from the blood pressure monitor.

Josephine suddenly jumped, guiltily, like someone caught out doing something that they know that they should not be doing, as the door swished open, and a dark haired, blue eyed, middle aged woman dressed in a white uniform dress and white shoes entered the room, carrying a new saline and nutrient bag.

"Lunch time, love ...." She said brightly, then stopped dead in her tracks, as she noted Josephine Grayson's presence on the other side of the bed.

She recalled seeing the woman earlier, but had thought that she had left with the Maxwells.

"Oops, I'm sorry honey. I didn't know that you still had company. I saw Jen and Joe leave some time ago ...."

Then she directly addressed Catherine's visitor. "I'm sorry ma'am. I didn't realize that anyone was still here ...."

"It's okay ...."

"There are some things that I need to do. Like feeding our friend here. Don't want her complaining to her family that we're starving her, huh Cathy?"

Maggie Connors made her way around the bed then, and Josephine moved out of her way, watching as she deftly unhooked the almost empty nutrient bags from the I.V. stand and replaced them with fresh ones.

"Pardon me .... but .... you're kinda new around here ...." Maggie Connors smiled.

"Yes ...." Josephine acknowledged softly.

"Thought so. I know all the faces that visit Cathy. Been together a long time, haven't we girl ...." She gently patted Catherine's hand then, before returning her speculative glance back to Josephine.

"Cathy used to date my brother ...." Josephine offered. "I've been living abroad, and only got back just before Christmas. When I heard about Cathy, I just had to come ...."

Josephine was glad that, like Joe Maxwell, the nursing staff were on their toes, and suspicious of strangers. It was good to know that they were so security conscious.

"Hi, I'm Maggie Connors, Senior Nurse on this floor ...."

"Dr Josephine Grayson ...." The two women exchanged cool, brief handshakes.

"So you're a doctor ...." Maggie said matter of factly, lifting the chart form the foot of the bed and opened it up to the page marked January 1 1995, which she had begun at shift change, at eight o'clock that morning. "Medical doctor?"

"Yes. I specialize in forensics ...." Josephine explained. "I just got a job with the F.B.I."

"Great ...." Maggie Connors responded absently, her mind focused on entering the intake and output of fluids by her patient, before moving on to take note of the readings flashing silently on the bank of monitors.

"Oops, there you go again, Cathy, running another marathon ...." She quipped, noting the flashing alarm light on the blood pressure monitor. "Nothing to fret about...." She looked up at Josephine apologetically. "Machine is on the fritz. You know how it is. Been playing up for a couple of days now. Have to get maintenance in here ...."

"What if it isn't the machine?" Josephine eyed the other woman curiously.

"Huh?"

"What if the machine isn't on the fritz? It's the third time that's happened since I've been here. What if it's not the machine? What if it's Cathy?"

Maggie Connors smiled benignly at Josephine Grayson, reaching out to the monitor to press the reset button.

She could understand what the other woman was thinking, feeling. Coming in here, full of confidence about her new job, wearing her medical degree like a badge, wanting to show the people who cared for Catherine Chandler, day in, day out, with loving patience, that maybe they'd become complacent, missed some vital piece of information that might mean that Catherine Chandler was on her way back to them.

Maybe seeing herself as some kind of hero of the hour.

Or maybe, she was just genuinely concerned for Catherine.

However, she did not know the full medical history .... prognosis. The accepted belief that Catherine Chandler, no matter how loved, no matter how well cared for, would never regain consciousness.

And Maggie Connors sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to tell her, to see the hope, the anticipation, fade from her face, as she had seen it fade from the faces of so many other patient's relatives over the years.

To Maggie Connors way of thinking, this was the cruelest of nature's tricks. The patients remaining stable, alive, some of them, like Cathy, looking so well, merely as if they were sleeping, but trapped in a limbo world, while their families and friends hoped and prayed and clung to the smallest bit of optimistic reassurance from the medical staff, and died a little more inside each day.

This one was new, keen to see something positive.

Something that wasn't really there.

_**A little knowledge is a dangerous thing ....**_

_**Patience Mags .... Patience .... **_

"Look Nurse Connors, I'm not questioning your competence, or that of your staff. I can see how well cared for Catherine has been, but, I do have a little experience in these things and I know what I saw. Please .... there is just a chance that I could be right ...."

Josephine watched as the older woman pressed the reset button on the blood pressure monitor, and watched the numbers disappear for a moment, then flash up once more.

"There ...." Maggie Connors sighed softly, as the alarm light went out, and returned her attention to the chart, where she was about to make a note of the readings.

"Wait ...." Josephine said softly. "Look ...."

Maggie Connors let out another sigh of impatience now, and cast a cursory glance at the monitor.

_**Damn.**_

The alarm light was back on, flashing insistently, and the reading was different again, showing another slight increase.

Maggie pressed the reset button once more, and waited for the machine to take a fresh reading, which showed the same, slightly raised measurement a few moments later, accompanied by the soft hiss of air escaping from the cuff permanently attached to Catherine Chandler's arm.

"Still think it's the machine?" Josephine kept her tone neutral, but her heart was hammering erratically in her chest, fuelled by a rush of adrenaline.

"Maybe. I'll get someone to take a look at it ...."

"At least make a note of it on the chart," Josephine suggested gently. "And mention it to her doctor next time he's doing rounds," Maggie Connors nodded mutely, a little ticked off that the failing machine had failed to back her up, and in so doing, had given credence to this stranger's theory.

Still ....

_**What if she's right?.**_

If there was even a small chance that she could be right.

Even just a tiny chance.

Maggie felt her own heart quicken at the thought, and for an instant, found herself hoping that it could be true.

Maggie Connors made her decision there and then, mumbling a brief "Excuse me ...." to Josephine Grayson, as she slipped the chart back over the rail at the foot of the bed, and hurried out of the room.

Wearing a determined look, Maggie returned a few moments later with a colleague, and they worked steadily to disconnect Catherine Chandler's sensors and blood pressure cuff, removing the supposedly faulty monitor, and reconnected the sensors and blood pressure cuff to the new monitors, and waited for them to take their first set of readings.

Immediately, the new blood pressure machine flashed up a reading, the small red alarm light winking insistently, as the amber lights on the display panel confirmed the slightly raised blood pressure reading.

Maggie Connors stared at the numbers, her jaw dropping open slightly as the immensity of the situation began to dawn on her.

And she and Josephine Grayson looked at each other .... and grinned triumphantly.

"Thank you ...." Josephine Grayson smiled through a veil of happy tears.

"No, thank _**you**_ ...." Maggie Connors said in a low voice, rough with emotion now.

"It's a beginning. She has a long way to go, but at least it is a start, and we know that Catherine_** is**_ putting up a fight."

"Don't worry, doc. I'll watch her like a hawk from now on ...."

"_**Fight**_ Catherine. _**Fight **_...." Josephine implored, alone once more and seated beside Catherine Chandler. "That's right love. _** Fight**_. Come home to Vincent and Jacob. They love you and need you, so fight your way back, and when you're well, you and I will sit down and talk, like sisters, because I just know that we will be good friends. We have a lot in common already. We both love Vincent ...."

Josephine rose slowly from her seat then, and gently leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Catherine's unlined forehead.

"Hurry up and get well, Catherine, please ...." And with that, Josephine slipped quietly out of the room, giving Maggie Connors a bright smile of hope and gratitude as she passed the nurse's station on her way to the elevator.


	6. Chapter 6

_**CHAPTER SIX.**_

_**Music ....**_

She could hear music.

But, the quality of it was very much as she imagined it might sound like if she were listening to it under water.

_**Beautiful music ....**_

And she _**knew**_ it.

However, the composer's name eluded her, as she fought to remember.

And she suddenly became aware that the darkness that engulfed her.

No longer seemed quite so .... dark ....

Black.

Now, it was more like the darkest shade of grey that she had ever seen.

And as well as the music, there had been a voice.

Soft.

Feminine.

With just the hint of an accent.

Yet, totally unfamiliar.

However.

More importantly.

The name that echoed in her mind uttered by that unfamiliar voice was one that she recognized immediately.

_**Vincent.**_

_**Vincent loves you so very much ....**_

_**He misses you terribly ....**_

_**"I miss him too!"**_ She screamed, but no sound issued forth from her lips.

_**Vincent is very worried about you ....**_

_**"Help me, Vincent .... I love you .... I love you ...."**_ She sobbed, but there was still no sound.

_**He is afraid that you are slipping away .... Please .... don't give up, Catherine .... Please .... He needs you .... without you ....**_

_**"I need him too .... I wont give up .... I'll never give up ...."**_ She yelled back as loudly as she could .... but even so, still no sound came from her lips.

For a long time, there was only the sound of the music.

Beautiful music.

Music that called to mind Vincent's beloved face, but when she tried to reach out to him, she could not move, trapped by some terrible weight, which pressed down on her, and pressed in all around her.

She tried to fight it.

But she was too weak.

Too tired.

_**Fight Catherine .... Fight .... That's right love ....**_

_**Fight ....**_

_**Come home to Vincent and Jacob. They love you and need you. So fight your way back.**_

_**"I will .... I will ...."**_ She sobbed softly, realizing that her efforts were not in vain ....

And that although her voice could not be heard. someone out there knew of her struggle and wanted to encourage her to continue fighting.

To let her know that she was on the right path.

And that freedom and life were not so very far away.

But ....

Who was it?

_**Who was it?**_

That wasn't important right now.

All that mattered was that she keep fighting.

With every ounce of strength and will power.

Vincent loved her .... needed her ....

And so did the son that she had only seen so briefly.

And if that was not worth fighting for.

Then nothing was.

/a\

"Vincent?" Jacob Wells regarded his son curiously. They had been engaged in an animated conversation about the New Year celebrations, which had, quite naturally, followed on to Vincent's birthday celebrations.

They younger man had been half way through explaining to his father that he wanted only a quiet affair with his family, when he had suddenly been struck dumb, a strange, vacant, glazed expression to his dear face.

"Vincent?"

This time, Jacob Well's voice penetrated, and the younger man blinked several times.

"What is it, Vincent? Whatever is wrong?" Jacob implored, taking in the bemused expression on his son's unique countenance.

"Josephine .... I must go to her ...."

"Are you mad!" Jacob exclaimed, drawing curious looks from their fellow tunnel dwellers standing close by. "It's still broad daylight Above ...."Jacob reminded none too gently.

_**What on earth was the boy thinking of! **_

"Is she in danger?" He quizzed, his heavy brow creased by a deep frown, wondering if the whole sorry business was about to begin again, only this time, with Vincent's sister.

"Danger?" Vincent echoed absently, then noted the look on Father's whiskered face, and made an effort to pull himself together, reaching out with his senses toward his sister, and finding her quite well. Cheerful. Euphoric even.

"No ...." He let out a long, deep sight. "No, Father, she is in no danger, but, I sense that she has something important to discuss with me ...."

"About Catherine?" Jacob Wells sighed knowingly.

"Perhaps ...." Vincent too let out another expressive sigh, which made his huge body shudder.

"Well .... whatever it is will just have to wait until after dark, my boy," Father advised sagely. "And you will have to be patient ...."

Jacob Wells laid an affectionate hand on his son's broad shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"Patience my boy ...."

"Patience ...." Vincent echoed on a soft breath. "A virtue I have long since practiced .... but now find myself running short of ...." He confessed.

"Then how about a game of chess, to occupy your mind until dusk?" Jacob Wells offered innocently.

"Father ...."

"Yes, my boy?"

"You are .... incorrigible ...."

"Thank you, my boy .... now .... will you set up, or shall I?"

/a\

Even before dusk fell over the city, Josephine Grayson had the attic brightly illuminated with a cheerful, golden glow, and a thermos flask of sweet, steaming hot chocolate, which had proved such a hit with her brother on his last visit.

For she knew with a certainty that as soon as it was safe for him to do so, Vincent would come calling.

She was right.

Barely had the sky begun to grow a deep blue, and the first stars twinkled and winked through a veil of darkening clouds, as she sat on the floor, wrapped in her coat and a thick checkered blanket, holding the slightly battered and moth eaten rag doll, Alice, and recalling the nights, when as a child, in that warm, cozy, safe place between wakefulness and slumber, she had confessed her dreams, fears and her hurts to the silent, non-judgmental stuffed toy, Vincent's sharp rap at the skylight brought her swiftly out of her reverie.

Josephine quickly lifted her eyes to the skylight, and found his anxious face peering down at her.

She smiled up at him, yet before he even had a chance to offer any response, Josephine sensed his anxiety.

_**Oh Lord ....**_

She had been afraid of_** that**_.

_**Obviously he had been able to pick up on her very strong and very mixed emotions, even though she had tried to keep a lid on them.**_

He made a swift, yet graceful entrance, dropping to the floor before her with a soft thud.

Again, Josephine smiled at her brother, but he did not smile back, continuing to regard her with large, anxious cobalt blue eyes.

"Something has happened ...." He stated a little breathlessly, stepping forward to place his large hands lightly on her delicate shoulders. "Tell me ...." He implored raggedly.

"Vincent ...." She reached up to gently brush a stray tendril of hair which clung to his coarse whiskered cheek.

"Tell me ...." He begged, and now she could feel his fear, desperation. His grief. "It is .... Catherine ...."

"Yes," Josephine sighed softly. "Look .... why don't we sit ...."

"Just tell me, Josephine. I can bear to wait no longer ...."

His voice caught in his throat then, and Josephine watched as tears suddenly welled up in his beautiful eyes.

"Is she .... dying ...." This in an infinitely small voice, filled with anguish and agony .... and Josephine felt a lump rise in her throat.

"Oh Vincent ...." She sighed softly, reaching out to rub his upper arms reassuringly.

"Please ...." He mumbled thickly, and now she could see just how much trouble he was having breathing, so anxious and distraught was he.

"Vincent .... breathe deeply ...." She encouraged, taking his face in between her small, warm hands, forcing him to look her directly in the eye.

He was on the brink of a full blown panic attack, and she knew that she had to try to calm him.

"Listen to me, Vincent .... breathe deeply.... breathe .... calm down .... breathe ...."

Vincent tried to obey Josephine's instructions, fighting to draw air into his starving lungs, his heart was pounding painfully in his chest, and his face was wet with tears that he could not control.

_**Oh Catherine ....**_

_**Catherine ....**_

_**My love ....**_

"C'mon love ...." Josephine said softly, continuing to gently rub his thick, muscular upper arms lovingly, feeling just how tense he was, feeling the quivering and shaking of his huge, supremely strong and fit body beneath his voluminous cloak.

"Vincent, listen to me. Take a deep breath .... hold it .... then let it out .... slowly ...." She instructed patiently.

Vincent did as she said, holding the breath until his lungs burned, then expelled it slowly, before dragging in another great lungful of air.

"That's better. Now, let's sit down, love ...."

"Josephine .... please ...."

"Vincent .... whatever you're thinking .... you're wrong .... Catherine is _**not**_ dying!" Josephine told him with a soft smile.

"Not ...." He gasped, china blue eyes growing wider.

"No. Catherine is _**not**_ dying ...."

"Then ...."

"Look .... I don't want to raise your hopes love, but, I think that there is a very good chance that your Catherine might be coming around."

"What ...." Vincent breathed in disbelief. "But how can that be?"

This reaction from him brought a frown to Josephine's brow.

"I .... I ...." He stammered, his expression one of utter shock and bewilderment. "I .... have _**no**_ sense of her ...."

He blinked rapidly in confusion, dislodging more tears, which rolled slowly down his cheeks.

"Surely .... if she truly _**is**_ awakening .... I would _**know**_ .... I would _**feel**_ it ...." He sobbed softly. "But .... I do not .... there is nothing .... _**nothing**_ ...."

"Vincent .... didn't you tell me that you lost your connection with Catherine, after your .... illness?" Josephine reminded him gently. "Didn't you tell me that your Bond was somehow .... broken?" She spoke slowly and calmly, rhythmically stroking his upper arms and the broad expanse of his back, whilst gently trying to coax him to move toward the soft pool of golden light made by the hurricane lantern.

"Yes .... yes ...." Vincent sighed heavily, his breath fanning Josephine's soft fringe of dark hair. "My illness .... our Bond ...."

He remembered just how devastated he had been at the discovery that he could no longer _**feel**_ Catherine, the loss, the emptiness had been almost more than he could bear.

But that had been as nothing, compared to the actual physical loss of her a short time later.

"Yes ...." He let out another long, ragged sigh.

"Look, Vincent, maybe in time, your Bond with Catherine will return. Maybe she is still too deeply in the coma for you to_** feel**_ her, for her to _**feel**_ anything herself …." Josephine explained sympathetically. "It's early days yet, love. Give yourself time. Give Catherine time. She's been gone for so long."

"Is she really coming back?" Vincent asked in a low, ragged voice.

"Maybe. But it's a very big maybe, Vincent. And .... you should know that it could take maybe another five years, but, she is trying, Vincent. Catherine _**is**_ fighting ...."

This time, Josephine smiled softly, and reaching out slowly, she lifted his chin, raising his downcast eyes.

"She is very beautiful, Vincent," She said, still smiling. "And I just know that we will be the best of friends .... in time. We already have something in common."

Her voice trailed away then, and Vincent regarded her curiously, head tilted slightly to one side, birdlike.

"We both love _**you**_ ...." She grinned broadly.

After a few moments of companionable silence, Josephine drew away, and quietly set out the mugs, into which she carefully poured out scalding hot chocolate.

She handed one mug to Vincent, after gently pushing him down onto the old footstool, and then, sat down on the floor at his feet, sipping slowly at her own mug of hot chocolate, as she cradled it carefully between hands that were now slightly chilled.

Josephine could feel Vincent's turbulent emotions, his disbelief warring with elation and joy, trepidation and anxiety battling with so much love that his heart felt as though it were about to burst, and such excitement and relief, such as she had never known in her life before.

"It will be all right, Vincent ...." She said, when they had been silent for a long time, slowly sipping their hot drinks.

"Will it?"

"Honestly?" He nodded. "I .... I don't know ...." Josephine confessed on a soft sigh. "I don't know. Not really, but if there is a God in Heaven, and justice in this world .... then yes .... It will be."

"Thank you ...."

"But ...."

"But?"

"But .... Vincent ...." She drew in a deep breath then, and he moved his head slightly to one side, to regard her more closely with unfathomable china blue eyes. "Vincent, there are some things that you should be made aware of ...." She expelled the breath slowly on a deep sigh. "I don't want you to think that I am not happy for you, because I am ...."

"I know it, Josephine .... I can feel it ...." Vincent said in deep, velvety tones. "But .... I can also feel your uncertainty .... your unease ...." He let out a long, deep sigh too. "So .... tell me ...."

"Catherine has been in a coma for more than five years, Vincent, and although it is not so unusual these days, for someone to regain consciousness, as a physician, through experience, I am aware that there can be .... complications ...." She set down her mug and reached for one of his big, fur covered hands, which she gently rubbed against her cheek.

"Complications?" He said hoarsely, around the lump in his throat.

"Yes. Coma patients who have regained consciousness, can sometimes display a degree of amnesia, which can be distressing to their families, who have been waiting patiently for their loved ones to return to them, only to discover that their loved ones do not even remember them ...." Josephine paused for a moment, and feeling the tremor that ran through his huge body, she gently squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"Also, being immobile and bedridden for so long .... can also have it's complications. I know that Catherine has received a good deal of physical therapy, and she appears to have good muscle tone, but, she is going to need a lot more physical therapy to get her back on her feet, strong, hail and hearty. She is going to need a lot of love and patience and specialized care. But, we can deal with that, love. We can deal with almost anything. The most important thing right now, is that far from slipping away, as you feared, Vincent, Catherine is trying to come home to you ...."

Josephine squeezed his hand gently once more, and smiled reassuringly at him.

"You love her ...." Josephine whispered.

"And with love, I have learned, all things are possible ...." He responded in a low, rough voice, and for a moment, Josephine was struck dumb by such a profound statement.

Acknowledging it in her heart for the truth that it was.

"Yes ...." She whispered again, and for a long time, brother and sister sat huddled together in silent contemplation.

"Vincent?" It was Josephine who broke the silence at last.

"Mm?" Her brother responded thoughtfully.

"I hope that you don't think that I wanted to spoil your happiness ...."

"What do you think?" He turned his head slightly to face her then, and Josephine knew what he meant.

What did she _**feel**_ of his emotions right now?

Certainly nothing that would indicate that he was angry, disappointed or resentful toward her.

If anything ....

He was still feeling pretty shell-shocked.

"I just wanted you to be aware of certain facts, Vincent ...." She sighed deeply. "What kind of doctor .... sister .... would I be, if in knowing of the possible problems and pitfalls ahead, I did not try to warn you .... prepare you .... help you to face the truth?" She loving reached up to gently caress his cheek. "And this truth, Vincent, is that Catherine is alive ...."

"Some truths are easier to face than others," Vincent intoned solemnly. "And as my stepmother, Mary, is so very fond of saying, where there is life, there is hope ...."

"Exactly ...."

"Thank you, Josephine. You have restored my hopes, my faith in Catherine's strength and determination."

His eyes suddenly grew wide and startled, and he drew in a deep, ragged breath.

"Vincent? What is it?" Josephine's tone was edged with concern now.

"I just remembered something .... that my son said to me ...."

"What was that?"

"He told me that he had dreamed .... about his mother .... and that in the dream, she had told him that she would be coming home .... very soon ...."

Vincent paused for a moment, before going on, turning startlingly blue eyes on his sister.

"Is it possible .... that Catherine and Jacob are .... connected? Is it possible that she is reaching out to him .... because she cannot make herself known to me directly?" He mused aloud.

"I don't know, Vincent. I don't have all the answers, but Catherine is the boy's mother. He is flesh of her flesh. She did carry him inside her .... loving him .... nurturing him .... who knows?" Josephine patted his big paw affectionately. "You and he share a Bond. You and Catherine shared a Bond .... now you and I .... anything is possible, Vincent, and I have learned not to close my mind to any and all possibilities in life. Some things just can't be proved or disproved by science or logic. Some things just are ...."

"Yes ...." Vincent sighed deeply then, and set his half empty mug of hot chocolate down on the floor before rising stiffly to his feet. "I must see her ...."

"I know ...." Josephine smiled, stepping up to him and wrapping her arms around him in a sisterly hug of understanding and reassurance.

"Vincent ...." She spoke as she drew slowly away from him. "Please .... don't expect to see any change in Catherine ...." She warned gently. "It is going to take time. You may not notice anything different about her .... for weeks .... months .... That doesn't mean that nothing is happening ...." She explained.

"I understand ...."

"Patience, love ...."

"That too, I understand ...." This time his expression softened just a little. "Be well, Josephine ...."

"You too. I'll visit Catherine again, soon, I promise. Take care ...."

/a\

From somewhere close by, a church clock struck midnight.

Vincent stood just in front of the open window in Catherine's hospital room, breathless, his chest heaving, his heart hammering violently against his ribs, as he again took in the stillness of the fragile beauty lying in the hospital bed, recalling his sister's warning not to expect to see any physical change in Catherine's condition.

_**He had hoped ....**_

Yes ....

He had hoped that in being physically close to Catherine. He might just be able to sense something of her through their Bond.

But ....

There was still nothing ....

_**Nothing ....**_

How could he truly be sure that she was coming back, when he had no sense of her?

Since leaving Josephine's attic, he had roamed the streets, his mind in utter turmoil, desperate to see his beloved Catherine, but also a little afraid of what he would find.

Dragging in a deep breath, he walked slowly over to the bed and stood beside his love, gently taking her hand in his own.

Again hoping that in touching her, he might again feel her presence in his mind.

But once again ....

There was nothing ....

Josephine had been so sure ....

_**What was he to believe?**_

"Oh Catherine ...." He mumbled thickly, twin trails of salt water streaming unchecked down his rough ginger cheek. "Thy sweet love remember'd, such wealthy brings ...." He quoted in a low, husky voice made rough with emotion. "I love you so much .... so much .... hurry back to me, my love .... please ...."

Vincent implored, forcing himself to believe that perhaps his words might make a difference, would help Catherine to find the courage and the strength to continue to fight, lowering his head so that his hair fell forward and clung to his tear streaked face.

"I am so tired of having nothing but my memories to cling to, they are poor company, and no matter how hard I try, my memories of our time together are not as clear and sharp as they once were, and they are small comfort ...." He confessed raggedly.

"Hear me, Catherine, please. I love you, and I will continue to wait for you .... for as long as it takes .... _** forever**_. Just come back to me, beloved .... please, come back to me ...." He sobbed softly, lifting his gaze to focus tear filled eyes on the face of the woman that was his life, his universe.

She looked so beautiful .... serene .... peaceful .... and he had no idea what was going on inside her mind.

He wanted to fold her in to his arms, crush her fragile body to his chest, instilling in her some of his strength, giving her the impetus to continue to fight her way back to the people who loved her.

But he could not ....

It was the one thing that had been denied him for the past five and a quarter years.

Because of the monitors, and the I.V. lines, he had had to be content with touching her face and holding her hand.

But he longed to be able to hold her in his arms once more, to warm her with his body and his love.

To feel her substance against him once more.

To know the sweetness of her embrace.

To drive away memories of the last time that he had held her warm body in his arms, as her life force had swiftly ebbed away.

_**We loved ....**_

_**There is a .... child ....**_

_**He's beautiful ....**_

_**Thou lovers be lost ....**_

Those, her last words to him, still haunted him, even to this day.

And the memory of how it felt to know that she was gone .... forever ....

And in that one moment .... he had known that his whole life was over ....

Yes ....

To know again the warm, vibrant, living feel of her in his arms ...

That was all that he needed to survive ....

To continue to hope and dream ....

The simple squeeze of his hand ....

Anything .... to indicate that she was aware of his presence, and understood that he would be at her side through all eternity.

If she would just open her eyes and smile at him.

With a heavy heart, Vincent leaned carefully down and pressed a soft, warm kiss to Catherine's pale cheek, leaving behind a solitary tear which rolled slowly down her cheek to her chin, and whispered softly.

"Sleep well my love. I love you ...."

And then he forced his leaden legs to carry him back across the room, and out through the window and into the night, knowing that he could not return home, not yet, not like this, for it would only worry his dear father and Mary to see him so upset and despondent.

_**He should be so happy ....**_

_**He should be on top of the world ....**_

But ....

Nothing had really changed ....

And he was afraid to believe that the miracle was truly happening ....

And was utterly disgusted with himself that he could be losing faith in Catherine's will and strength at this, seemingly, the final hurdle.

And ....

Afraid that even if the miracle did happen ....

His dreams could still be turned to ashes ....

Coming to him in the form of his sister's gentle explanation .... in one word ....

_**Complications ....**_

/a\

_**Vincent?**_

_**Oh Vincent ....**_

_**I hear you my love ....**_

_**I hear you ....**_

_**Don't give up hope ....**_

_**I love you too ....**_

_**Don't give up ....**_

_**I will be with you ....**_

_**Soon ....**_

_**Soon ....**_

_**Have faith ....**_

_**Vincent ....**_

_**Vincent?**_

__Why couldn't he hear her?

_**Why didn't he know what she was thinking .... feeling ....**_

_**Why didn't he know that she was fighting so hard to reach out to him ....**_

"Hear me, Catherine, please. I love you, and I will continue to wait for you, for as long as it takes .... _** forever**_ .... Just come back to me, beloved .... please, come back to me ...."

His soft sobs tore at her heart, and she wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to take him in her arms and console him, reassure him that her love for him had never died, and nor would it.

But she could not ....

Still trapped ....

Yet aware that the darkness had dissipated, and had been replaced with a thin white mist.

If she could just fight her way through it ....

_**Surely Vincent must know how hard she was trying ....**_

_**Their Bond ....**_

Their Bond .... had been broken .... somehow .... when he had been so ill ....

_**Perhaps it had never been restored ....**_

_**Oh God, Vincent .... Don't lose heart .... Don't lose faith .... I will be with you soon! **_

And then she felt something, the first time that she had felt anything from inside this limbo world, something that she knew had touched her physical body.

Something on her face.

His fingers?

No ....

His lips .... Warm and sweet and oh so tender ....

A beautiful kiss ....

And something more ....

Something cool .... and wet .... tickling as it moved ....

She knew that Vincent was weeping, his soft sobs had tugged at her heart.

_**His tears ....**_

His tears had fallen on her face when he had kissed her.

_**Oh Vincent .... **_She shrieked, but still no sound came from her lips ....

_**I am here, beloved .... and I love you too ....**_

__She had to go to him .... She had to, before his hope died, before he died inside too ....

He needed her.

_**I'm coming Vincent .... **_ She vowed with renewed determination. _**I'm coming my love. Just wait a little longer .... Just a little longer ....**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**CHAPTER SEVEN**_

_**Monday January 2, 1995.**_

"Hi, Josephine, now that's what I like to see! Punctual and raring to go ...." Andrew McNeal ushered Josephine Grayson into his office, running an approving eye over her immaculate appearance.

She was wearing a very demure navy suit and a crisp white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, soft black leather shoes with a sensible heel, little jewellery, save for her pretty gold wedding band and a slim line gold wristwatch, and a pair of pearl studs in her ears.

She had on just enough makeup to add a little color to her cheeks, and her hair was neatly styled in a chignon in the nape of her neck.

She had her new F.B.I. identification badge pinned to the lapel of her jacket, and to finish off the very professional and businesslike effect, she carried an expensive black leather briefcase in her left hand, her right hand extended toward him as she rose to greet him, and followed him inside his office.

Josephine was a little nervous, naturally, but reminded herself that this was no different from any other first day in a new job.

She accepted Special Agent In Charge, McNeal's offer to take a seat, set down her briefcase on the floor beside her chair, and sat with her legs crossed, and her hands folded demurely in her lap.

She listened politely as McNeal went over her duties, and responsibilities within the department that she was joining, and his welcome was warm enough, although, Josephine grew more and more suspicious as the meeting went on, that Agent McNeal had something on his mind, and was just biding his time.

As it turned out, Josephine did not have to wait very long to discover what that was.

"Josephine ...." McNeal eyed her from across his wide, dark oak wood desk, covered in family photographs, a very masculine silver writing set, which comprised of leather blotter, silver pen holder and inkwell, and several silver pens and pencils, a paper weight with the F.B.I. seal on it, and several official looking files. "Tell me ...." He leaned forward slightly. "Exactly how long have you known the D.A.?"

"The D.A.?" Josephine frowned in genuine puzzlement.

"Joe Maxwell," McNeal prompted.

"Ah ...." Her cheeks were suddenly suffused with color, which McNeal found most becoming.

"I see you've heard of him," he sighed softly. "He was on the telephone to me here at seven thirty this morning, checking into your credentials," McNeal explained, his expression puzzled as he scrutinized Josephine's face and waited for her reaction.

"I have known Mr Maxwell for all of about thirty seconds," Josephine confessed, feeling the heat in her cheeks, under his watchful gaze.

"That must have been quite a first impression you made. So tell me, how did you meet him?"

"It's a personal matter. To do with my half brother ...."

"Maxwell was pretty cagey too, most unusual for him ...." McNeal pointed out. "But I kinda got the impression that you stepped on his toes, just a little ...."

"My sudden appearance on the scene came as something of a surprise to Mr Maxwell, and he was somewhat suspicious of me .... so ...."

"So you flashed your F.B.I. appointment in his face ...." McNeal sighed heavily. "And then he set about rattling _**my**_ cage ...."

"I am most sincerely sorry, Sir. It was the only way that I could think of to get Mr Maxwell to accept me, and it was very important to me that he do just that," Josephine explained swiftly. "And not for one moment did I think that he would involve you, in what is, strictly speaking, a private and personal matter. I did not want any trouble ...."

"Fortunately for you, Maxwell is a reasonable guy. He and I have worked together in the past, and the minute that your story checked out, he changed his attitude, pronto. I don't think you'll be having any problems from him from now on."

"Thank you, Sir ...."

"Forget it. Just don't get on the wrong side of the guy. You never know when we may need him on our side."

"Sir ...."

"Okay, let's get you settled in, and meet the rest of the gang. You'll probably remember most of them ...."

/a\

"What? I .... er .... I don't understand ...." Jenny Maxwell regarded Dr Eckhart with big, dark eyes, in a pale face, wringing her hands in her lap as she tried to catch her breath, and comprehend what the Consultant in charge of Catherine Chandler's case was trying to tell her.

She felt dizzy and breathless, as though her feet had not touched the ground since she had stepped off the elevator a little over thirty minutes before.

Sensitive to the subtle changes in the way that people behave, and the atmosphere of a room, Jenny had immediately sensed that something was different, the whole floor had a strange, highly charged atmosphere, and the staff looked at her, differently.

As if she wasn't disquieted enough as it was, after the very strange dream that she had had last night.

Where she and Catherine had been sitting together, in a strange, magical place, that had an aura of love and a very soothing effect on both of them, shrouded in a warm, golden luminescence.

Sitting side by side, at the top of a high cliff, watching water tumble down into a bottomless cavern, cold spray kissing their faces and teasing at their hair.

Sitting together. Talking. Easily. Happily. With the familiarity of long friendship.

It had seemed so .... real ....

Catherine ....

So beautiful. Funny. Warm. Vibrant ....

Cathy ....

Telling her friend that she was finally where she wanted to be. With the man that she loved.

Men that she loved.

With Vincent, and her son, Jacob.

And that here, in this special, mysterious place, she would have all the love and healing that she would need, always.

_**Always ....**_

She was finally home.

And Jenny had actually been able to _**feel**_ the love and happiness radiating from her friend.

Jenny had awoken, still feeling the warmth and contentedness she had felt from Catherine in the dream, but, as she had lay there, watching Joe just beginning to come awake, reaching out for her as he always did, she had, inexplicably, begun to cry, sobbing brokenly against Joe's chest, choking out incoherent details of the dream, and her fear that Catherine had died during the night.

It had taken Joe ages to console her, and then a quick call to the hospital had been the only thing to reassure Jenny that all was well, a bored young voice telling her that "Miss Chandler has had a comfortable night."

Jenny had hung up abruptly, and had put on a brave face for her husband throughout breakfast, scolding him for actually having the audacity to call the F.B.I. and check that Josephine Grayson was who she had said she was, and reading in his big, dark eyes, that he blamed the mysterious appearance of the English woman for upsetting his wife.

Jenny had finally managed to convince her husband that she had recovered her wits, by the time he had left for the office, that it had just been one of_** those**_ dreams, but, although there had been nothing sinister or frightening about the dream, it had, nonetheless, been startlingly real and vivid, and had left a deep impression on Jenny Maxwell.

Like it was some kind of omen.

And now, she still had not changed her mind about that dream.

In the light of what Dr Eckhart had just told her.

That Catherine might possibly be coming out of the coma.

That the miracle that they had all been hoping for was finally about to happen.

Eckhart had used a lot of technical mumbo jumbo about _**SMART**_ tests and measuring Catherine's awareness of herself, and her surroundings, and that there seemed to be some indication that she was not in such a deep level of coma as she had been just yesterday.

But poor Jenny was simply too shocked to take it all in.

She simply burst into tears.

Dr Eckhart discreetly took his leave then, and sent Senior Nurse, Maggie Connors in to comfort Jenny.

Maggie spent a good deal of time going over it all again with her, in terms that Jenny could better understand, but although she took it all in, Jenny was simply too overwhelmed with joy and astonishment to do anything but laugh and cry and hug Maggie Connors.

When Jenny eventually calmed down, she sat dabbing at her tears, grinning like a fool, and sipping a cup of strong black coffee, and she begged Maggie Connors to tell her again.

"Seems the F.B.I. lady was right ...." Maggie Connors sighed softly, reaching out to pat Jenny Maxwell's hand.

"F.B.I. lady?" Jenny frowned.

"The doctor who was here yesterday. The boyfriend's sister?"

"Josephine Grayson?"

"That's the one ...."

"What about her, Maggie?" Jenny quizzed.

"Well, I thought it was just the machine, on the fritz again, like the other day ...." Jenny nodded mutely, remembering her own brief excitement at the flashing alarm, and Maggie's confident assurances that it was nothing to worry about.

"I remember ...." She said in a weak voice.

"Well, this doctor woman said, what if it's not the machine? What if it's Catherine?" Maggie explained softly. "So, I say to myself .... She knows the score .... she's obviously been around .... knows that sometimes the machines go haywire .... So I think to myself .... I'll show you .... and I hit the reset button .... and whamo ...."

"Whamo?"

"The same reading flashes up, so, then I think to myself, better not take any chances, and I fetch a new machine, hook Cathy up to it, and wadda ya know? Still the same reading." She let out a deep sigh, lowering her head briefly. "Cathy. Not the machine. Well, then I mentioned it to Dr E this morning when he started his rounds. He checked the chart, checked the machine, and checked the chart again, his face was a picture, let me tell you, and then, all hell breaks loose around here!" Maggie chuckled now, but there were tears in her eyes now too. "And all Dr E could do was walk around muttering _**"Well I'll be damned .... I'll be damned ...."**_ She grinned now. "It's amazing ...."

"Amazing ...."

"Yeah, Jen. It's amazing what a fresh pair of eyes can see, and a different set of expectations can do," Maggie sighed deeply. "Makes me wonder how long we've all been looking .... and just not _**seeing **_...."

"Maggie, you have all done a wonderful job ...." Jenny defended hastily. "Maybe this only just happened. Maybe hers was the one voice that managed to get through to Catherine ...."

"Maybe. None of that really matters anyway, love. The most important thing is that your friend is maybe coming back to you, Jenny, and I just can't wait to meet her ...."

/a\

"Dear God, Vincent!" Jacob Wells stared wide eyed and slack jawed at his son for a moment, then gathered his wits, and gathered his son into his arms in an affectionate hug. "This is wonderful news .... wonderful ...." He coughed softly to remove the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, and now his eyes were filling with tears. "Is it really true ...."

"Yes Father. It is true ...." Vincent spoke in a very low, intense voice.

"Catherine is coming out of the coma .... my boy .... that is ...."

"A miracle ...." Vincent smiled softly then.

"Yes .... yes .... a miracle ...." Jacob pulled the younger man closer for another affectionate hug, then drawing away, narrowed his eyes as he said. "How long have you known?"

"A few days ...." Vincent confessed softly.

"A few days?"

"Since New Years ...."

"New Years .... that was almost a week ago!" Jacob Wells tone was incredulous.

_**How had Vincent been able to keep such wonderful news to himself all this time?**_

But ....

Now, that he stopped and thought about it, it all became clear to Jacob Wells.

"I know. I am sorry Father. I hardly dared to believe ...."

So-o-o, _**that**_ was why his son had been walking around like a lost soul, vacant and faraway.

"And," Vincent continued solemnly. "I did not want to tell anyone .... until I was sure," he added softly.

"And you are sure, now?" His father quizzed.

"Yes. I have just come from seeing Josephine, and she tells me that Catherine's vital signs and brain wave activity are getting stronger every day," Vincent explained patiently.

"And she does not think that it will be long?" Jacob Wells probed.

"There are no guarantees, Father, but the signs are there. All we can do is wait ...."

Jacob Wells regarded his son thoughtfully. He looked so much better these days. At peace with himself at last, if not exactly reconciled with Catherine's fate.

And young Jacob too. He had been even more full of excitement than usual.

And now his Grandfather understood why.

So ....

It was true then.

Catherine would be coming home.

And in a week, his precious son would turn forty.

_**Life begins at forty .... **_ he had often heard it said.

And for Vincent, it seemed highly likely that that prophecy was about to come true.

"We have much to do. Plans to make ...." Jacob Wells squeezed his son's shoulder affectionately.

"No Father," This brought a frown to Jacob Wells' old brow.

"But Vincent, surely you will want Catherine to come Below, to be with you and young Jacob ...."

"Of course that is what _**I**_ want, Father, but, it is what Catherine wants .... and needs .... that is most important."

"Vincent?"

"Father, Josephine has explained to me that there could be complications .... " His voice suddenly caught in his throat. "Amnesia. Paralysis ...." These words were forced out on a rough whisper.

"Oh God ...."

"Why did you not tell me, Father?" There was no reproach in his son's tone of voice, nor in his beautiful china blue eyes, but his father felt it nevertheless.

"I am no expert in these matters, Vincent, and there have been many advances since my day. Besides, I had no idea until today that Catherine was recovering, and I .... I .... I simply could not bear to see your pain, Vincent. How could I rob you of your final hopes? They were all that you had left ...."

"Yes ...."

"I'm sorry Vincent. In not wanting to hurt you .... I appear to have failed you ...."

"No Father. Never ...."

"Vincent, would you have listened to me, anyway?"

"Probably not, Father ...." Vincent sighed heavily. "My heart was set on Catherine recovering, and to think of anything else .... would have been .... torture .... That the fates could be so cruel as to return her to me, with no memory of our love, our life, our son, unable to move. No. Those were the very last things that I wanted to hear ...."

Jacob Wells let out a deep sigh, and gave his son's shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

"And, of course, you are right. Catherine's immediate physical and emotional needs are of paramount importance now. When she is awake, there will be time enough to decide on what is best to do ...."

"Yes, Father ...."

"It will be all right, Vincent ...." Father assured.

"Will it, Father?"

"Yes. Catherine is young, strong, and she loves you, Vincent ...."

_"__**Loved me**_, Father. _**Loved**_ .... Five years ago."

Vincent hung his head briefly, his beautiful red/gold mane falling around his face like a silken curtain.

"What if ...." He raised his head then, and Jacob Wells could clearly see the anguish and the doubt in his son's expressive, tear filled cobalt blue eyes. "What if Catherine does not remember .... me .... us .... our love ...."

"Vincent .... when you were ill, when you came back from that dark cavern .... lost .... broken .... whilst you recovered physically, you could not always remember .... even the most simple things .... You could not even remember .... her name ...." Jacob Wells reminded softly.

"I know ...." Vincent spoke thickly, letting out a deep, shuddering sigh.

"But .... you did remember that you loved her, Vincent. You did remember that she was the woman that you loved .... who loved you, and that was all that you needed ...."

Father pulled Vincent back into his arms once more, cradling the back of his head with one gnarled old hand. "It will be the same for Catherine, Vincent. You'll see. That kind of love never dies, and the heart always recognizes where it's true home is, even if the eyes do not ...."

Father held his son close for a moment longer, then released him, brushing away his silky bangs from his rough cheek.

"Have faith for just a little longer, Vincent. All these years, you have never given up hope, never doubted, just keep that faith for a little longer, my boy, and soon it will be rewarded."

"Thank you, Father. I love you."

"I know it, Vincent. I have known it for forty years, and I love you too ...."

"Ah yes, my birthday. I should have known that you would get around to _**that**_, eventually."

"You can't blame an old man for trying ...." Jacob smiled softly then. "But I can understand why you want to keep it low key, Vincent, but, you know that when our fellow tunnel dwellers hear the good news about Catherine, they are going to want to throw the biggest party our world has ever known."

"Then perhaps we should keep it to ourselves, just for a little while longer, We will all want Catherine to be there to enjoy it with us, wont we, Father ...."

"Very well," Jacob said with a resigned air, and Vincent could not fail to notice the look of disappointment on his dear parent's face. He looked away, for just a moment, and when he turned back to face his son, Vincent could see his father's deep sapphire blue eyes bright with unshed tears.

"But that party .... for Catherine's homecoming ...." Jacob said in a low, shaky voice, and Vincent tilted his head slightly to one side, regarding his parent with curiosity. "Make it a wedding, shall we?"

Jacob Wells watched as his son's Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat as he swallowed hard, and saw the look of rapture on his dear face, and knew that he had done the right thing.

"Father ...." Vincent's voice was low and husky, throbbing with emotion now. "Do you think that she will .... have me?"

"Can't see why, myself .... your loud .... opinionated .... moody ...."

"Father ...."

"Tall, handsome, brave, tender, loving .... Her knight in shining armor ...." Jacob grinned broadly then.

"Go on ...." Vincent invited, his face breaking into the most beautiful smile that his father had ever seen there.

"Get away with you .... before your head gets too big to fit through the tunnels ...." Father chuckled at the look of hurt outrage on his son's face now. "Vincent, if Catherine has any sense at all, she will frog march you down the aisle at break neck speed, and never be happier ...." He chuckled again. "And somehow, I don't think you will put up much of a struggle ...."

"No Father, I want nothing more than to have Catherine beside me .... as my wife .... forever. Then all of my dreams will have come true ...."

"With Catherine as your wife, my boy, you will learn to dream new dreams, together ...." Father and son smiled warmly at each other, and embraced each other once again.

"I will speak to the others about your birthday, something quiet and simple and tasteful, I think, that will leave you free to spend some time with your sister, who no doubt also has plans for your birthday, and give you time to visit with Catherine, as usual ...."

"Thank you, Father. For everything ...."

"I want only your happiness, Vincent. Yours and Catherine's. Now, run along and get some sleep, my boy. You need all of your strength now."

"Goodnight, Father ...."

"Goodnight, my son ...."


	8. Chapter 8

_**CHAPTER EIGHT.**_

_**WEDNESDAY JANUARY 11, 1995**_

Josephine Grayson rose stiffly from her seat, carefully arching her back to stretch the aching muscles, and flexing her shoulders to try to ease the knot of tension that was there.

She was utterly exhausted, but it was a good feeling.

Her new job was going well and she had already been handed some interesting cases.

But ....

The most interesting things in her life were taking place outside of her working life.

Jenny and Joe Maxwell had overcome their initial hesitancy about her, Jenny especially, wanting to share her excitement and her fears about the possibility that Catherine Chandler might soon awaken, and they had joined Josephine at her home, for dinner, several times in the last week, bringing their young family with them, much to Mrs Ludlow's delight.

And ....

For the past seven days now, they had been keeping a constant, twenty four hour vigil at Catherine's bedside. Jenny and Joe Maxwell, herself, and of course, Vincent, as well as the nursing staff.

Someone was always with Catherine now, just in case she should awaken.

And the possibility of that grew better every day, according to the test results and the readouts on the banks of monitors beside the bed.

Catherine was getting stronger, reaching a higher level of awareness with the passing of each day.

But ....

Even so ....

There were no guarantees

The last seven days had gone pretty much the same, with Josephine rising very early and coming to the hospital to sit with Catherine for a little while, before going on to the offices of the F.B.I.'s New York field office.

During the morning, the nursing staff would see to Catherine's immediate medical and hygiene needs, and then, at lunch time, Jenny Maxwell would arrive, sitting with Catherine, holding her hand, stroking her brow, chattering about her children, Joe, her busy life, the weather, and sometimes, time and circumstances permitting, Josephine would join Jenny, bringing sandwiches and hot coffee, or a can of diet soda, and she and Jenny would spend a little time chatting, getting to know each other better, before Josephine had to go back to her office.

Jenny Maxwell would then stay with Catherine until mid afternoon, when she had to return to her young family, and then Joe Maxwell, taking an early mark from the D.A.'s office, would arrive at the hospital and sit quietly with Catherine, reminiscing about their time together in the office, and telling her all about the people who still worked there that she would remember, and how they were getting on.

Jenny Maxwell would then return to the hospital, joining her husband at about six thirty in the evening, and they would stay, until about eight, when Josephine took over once again.

In-between times, Maggie Connors would sit with Catherine, silently marveling at the battle that must be going on inside the young woman, yet, with no visible signs, save for the flashing lights on the banks of monitors beside the bed.

Josephine usually stayed late, waiting for Vincent to arrive, to take his turn at Catherine's bedside.

He seemed to have recovered himself, after the initial shock of discovering that his beloved was fighting her way back to him, which had rocked him to his very core, and given him something to think about, not all of it good.

She had sensed his doubts, fears, that Catherine would not recognize him.

Or that Catherine would no longer feel as she once had for him.

Josephine had no words to reassure her brother, unable to offer him anything except her love and support, and a shoulder to cry on, allowing him to simply voice his fears and doubts, as he had paced back and forth across her attic.

They both knew that only time would tell.

Josephine had not quite gotten used to Vincent's dramatic entrance to Catherine's room, via the fire escape and the window, but one thing that she had gotten used to, was the look on his face, as he beheld Catherine, still lying motionless and insensate, in the centre of the narrow hospital bed.

In that instant, Josephine would feel again, his pain, despair and frustration, and her own heart ached for him.

Then ....

He would take in a deep breath, expel it on a soft sigh of resignation, cross the room on silent feet, push back the capacious hood of his cloak, and taking the seat beside the head of the bed, would take Catherine's small hand gently in his ownlarger one, and as Josephine discreetly melted into the shadows, he would begin to tell Catherine about his day, about their son, about the people in his life that she knew and loved.

For the first few nights, Josephine had stayed only long enough to see him settled, sensing his need to be alone with the woman that he loved, and knowing that he would soon be immersed in his own little world.

But, one night earlier in the week, when she had been about to slip quietly out of the room, Vincent had caught her wrist gently in his big hand, and had held her with an appealing cobalt blue gaze, his one word, barely audible. "Stay ...."

Now, when Vincent arrived, she would leave him alone with Catherine for a little while, using the time to go to the drinks vending machine at the end of the corridor to purchase a Styrofoam cup of coffee or soup, and walked up and down the corridor sipping at the beverage slowly.

And then, when she sensed his change of mood, and his need for her company, Josephine would return to Catherine Chandler's room, and remain there with Vincent until the early hours of the morning, sometimes talking, sometimes dozing, sometimes just listening to Vincent talk about his 'world', and the special people who shared it with him, until with the approaching dawn, it was time for him to leave.

A soft rustling noise at the window drew Josephine's attention and she looked up just in time to see Vincent ducking in through the window from the fire escape.

He drew up to his full, impressive height, his cloak floating about his booted feet, barely out of breath, despite the hazardous journey of scaling the rooftops and negotiating the fire escape.

His bright blue eyes immediately sought out Catherine, and Josephine again felt his disappointment pound through her.

Their Bond had grown stronger with the better they got to know each other, but, as Josephine had originally suspected, it was at it's strongest when they were physically close.

Josephine could still marvel at just how quickly she had accepted their gift, knowing that he was always with her, sharing her every feeling, knowing that she would never again be completely alone.

That she too could sometimes feel what Vincent was feeling, as strongly as he was feeling that emotion, was a little unnerving at first, and would certainly take time to get used to.

But ....

It was also humbling, and helped to make her a more considerate and compassionate person.

And, there were some things that she was sure she would never get used to sharing with her unique brother.

Privileged things.

His despair and frustration that Catherine had still not awakened.

His distrust of people.

Her world.

His deep and abiding love for Catherine, and their son, Jacob.

Josephine heard Vincent's sigh of resignation, and tried not to smile.

His eyes sought hers, boring into their green/gold depths, head tilted slightly to one side, face concealed in shadow behind the capacious hood.

"Hello Vincent ...." She greeted him with a warm smile, walking to him, arms open and outstretched. She gave him an affectionate, sisterly squeeze and received from him a gentle embrace in return.

"Josephine ...." He spoke her name in soft, velvet tones, then stepped aside and walked slowly over to the bed. "How is she?" He asked, his china blue eyes never leaving Catherine's beautiful, pale face.

"Good. All her vital signs are stronger, and her _**SMART**_ test results show another improvement," Josephine explained softly. "I'll leave you two ...."

"No ...." Vincent turned sharply to look at his sister, and she was immediately engulfed in his sorrow.

"Vincent? What is it, love?" She crossed the room quickly to stand beside him.

"Tomorrow, no, a few minutes from now .... I will be ..... forty years old ...."

"I know ...." Josephine smiled at him again, and slide her arm affectionately around his solid waist.

"And .... I ...." He faltered then, but Josephine knew what was in his mind, and in his heart ....

"And you had hoped that Catherine ...."

"Yes ...."

"Oh Vincent ...." Josephine squeezed her arm around his waist reassuringly.

"I knew that it was a false hope, but .... I .... could not stop myself ...." He confessed.

"Not a false hope, love. A long shot, maybe ...." Josephine sighed softly. "And I know how you feel. I've wanted that for you too, love ...."

"But, it is not to be ...." Vincent expelled a deep, shuddering sigh, and closed his eyes, briefly.

When he opened them once more, they were brimming with tears, and Josephine felt her heart constrict in her chest.

She wanted to offer him comfort, but she knew that she was the wrong person, that the only one who could comfort him in the way that he needed, was Catherine Chandler.

And despite the fact that that thought caused her more pain than she had known in a while.

Josephine knew, deep down in her heart, that that was as it should be.

With a weak smile, she reluctantly drew away and stepped back from the bed, seeking her place in the shadows, beside the open window, and watched as from beneath the voluminous folds of his cloak, Vincent produced a perfect single stemmed red rose.

With careful, gentle, slightly trembling fingers, Vincent took the delicate rose, and with the soft, velvety petals, caressed Catherine's cheek, chin, lingering under her nose so that she could breathe in it's delicate scent, before moving on to her other cheek.

As she watched, Josephine felt tears sting in her eyes.

It was such an intimate moment, so tender, she could feel the waves of love emanating from her brother, out toward the woman that he loved with every fiber of his being.

And suddenly felt him recoil in surprise.

"Vincent?" Her tone was edged with concern.

"I .... I ...." He stammered, turning to her with eyes that were wide, still bright with tears, and possessing a startled quality.

"I .... remember the first time that I gave Catherine a rose ...." He continued, his voice low and husky, velvet and honey, throbbing with emotion. "One of the children had given me a dried, pressed rose, which I had used for some time as a book mark ...." He went on, tears sliding unchecked down his coarse, ginger cheeks. "I used it to mark the place in a book which I gave to Catherine, as a gift ...."

He paused briefly to take in a calming breath, returning his gaze to the beauty lying motionless on the bed.

"I had not known Catherine for very long, but, even then, I was beginning to believe that in her eyes .... I had a certain beauty .... worth ...." Again he faltered, lowering his head briefly, and again Josephine felt her heart constrict in her chest.

"The book was the Sonnets of Shakespeare .... and in the days that followed .... Catherine would read them to me .... but .... that first one .... meant everything .... _** everything,**_" his voice trailed away then, and again he bowed his head.

"Which one, Vincent?" Josephine asked hoarsely, feeling tears spilling over on to her cheeks.

"Sonnet 29 ...." He breathed ....

"When, in disgrace with fortune in mens' eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state ...." Josephine mumbled, feeling her heart clench in her chest, for it was a particular favorite of her own and one which she had applied to herself, knowing that her beloved Jeff had seen through to the beauty within her soul, as she had with him.

"And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries .... and look upon myself and curse my fate ...." Vincent continued for her when emotion closed her throat and she could not utter another word.

"Wishing me, like to one more rich in hope .... featured like him, like him with friends possessed .... desiring this man's art and that man's scope .... with what I most enjoy contented least ...."

Again, Josephine could feel Vincent's love for Catherine swelling.

And again ....

She suddenly felt him recoil in surprise .... and shock ....

"Vincent?" Josephine moved back toward the light, watching as Vincent's huge shoulders heaved, as he let out a soft, strangulated moan ....

"Vincent?" She reached for his hand, swamped by a deluge of emotion, so deep, so all encompassing that she could not define any one clearly ....

"Look ...." Vincent mumbled thickly, and Josephine followed his gaze down to where Catherine's small hand rested in his own, her fingers curling up slowly and stiffly, to squeeze his hand in return.

"Catherine ...." Her name was a tortured sound from his lips, torn from his heart, his face a mixture of joy .... and love .... and fear ....

"Go on, Vincent ...." Josephine encouraged softly. "Catherine is remembering too, love. Go on with the poem ...." She laid a gentle hand on his broad shoulder, and squeezed it gently.

Vincent looked down at her then, huge cobalt blue eyes filled with tears .... filled with wonder .... disbelief .... love .... seeking confirmation that what he perceived to be happening was indeed so ....

And Josephine nodded gently, dislodging more of her own tears, which she brushed away impatiently.

"Vincent .... Yet, in these thoughts, myself almost despising ...." She prompted in a voice made deep and husky by emotion.

"Happily .... I think on thee ...." Vincent spoke in a low husky voice once more, his gaze drifting up to Catherine's beautiful face, and took in with astonishment, the fact that her eyelids, closed against the world these past five and a quarter years .... appeared to be fluttering ....

"And then my state .... like to the lark at break of day, arising from sullen earth .... sings hymns at heaven's gate ...." Vincent continued without thought, feeling again the very slight pressure of Catherine's small hand squeezing his own.

And, as he blinked away his tears, and stared in complete astonishment, he saw Catherine's eyes flutter open, her lips moving as she tried to utter words that were almost lost in a dry throat, but one's which his acute sense of hearing clearly detected.

"For they sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings ...."

"That then I scorned to change my state with kings ...." Vincent concluded huskily, his eyes never leaving her beautiful, pale face, taking in the big, grey/green eyes filled with tears, and love, and recognition, as they settled on his face. Her lips curving up into a soft smile ....

"Vincent ...." Catherine breathed, her voice a low, dry whisper, but the love in her eyes was unmistakable, and so was the fact that she recognized him, Josephine realized, as she blinked away her own tears, and forced down the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.

Gathering her wits, Josephine discreetly stepped back from the bed, wanting to give them some privacy, not wanting to intrude on this most precious of moments.

"Catherine ...." Vincent breathed her name on a hiss of breath, sinking to his knees beside the bed, his hands, suddenly awkward and shaking visibly, reaching up to cup her face. "Oh Catherine, I love you .... I love you ...."

"I love you too, Vincent ...." Catherine responded in a soft voice, just before their lips met in a brief but tender kiss.

From the other side of the room, concealed by shadows, Josephine Grayson watched the scene unfold before her in muted awe, touched by the tenderness each displayed toward the other, and the love, watching as Catherine encouraged Vincent to rest his head against her shoulder, so that she could stroke his hair and press soft kisses to the top of his head, no more need for words between them, the love and the need and the happiness evident in both of their faces.

Touched, and humbled to be a part of this amazing reunion, to actually be able to _**feel**_ the love coming from both of them, as well as seeing it with her own eyes.

Deep down inside, the logical, professional physician in her knew that someone should step in and check Catherine's condition .

But ....

As Vincent's sister, and someone who knew what it felt like to pray for miracles to happen, and know the huge disappointment when the did not.

Josephine understood the immensity of _**this**_ miracle, the impact that it was going to have on all of their lives, and she also understood the need to allow these two very special people to savor this beautiful moment for as long as they could.

For they would never have it again.

And from somewhere close by, a church clock struck.

Midnight.

Josephine Grayson smiled through a veil of tears.

Vincent had gotten his birthday wish after all.

And Josephine found herself hoping that from this moment on, all of her brother's wishes would come true.

For this was only the beginning of the happy life that he deserved.

With the woman that he loved.

He and Catherine .... together at last ....

As they were meant to be.

Forever.

_**Happy birthday my dear brother .... **_

_**Happy birthday ....**_

_**And very many more ....**_

**The End**

**And they all lived happily ever after ....**

_**But that's another story ....**_


End file.
